


Help

by Loxare



Series: Hinder [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Completed., Gang activity, Gen, Homelessness mention, I don't know if it's graphic violence..., I promise there's fluff in here., Kidnapping, Lots of it., Pedophilia mention, Police brutality mention, Prostitution mention, Self Harm, Suicide mention, Violence, child abuse mention, rape mention, request fic, school shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10144052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxare/pseuds/Loxare
Summary: AU. Jason never went to Gotham after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit. Instead, he went to Bludhaven to begin his reign of terror. That all changed the night he gave a scared teen his phone number.





	1. New Beginnings and BioToxic

He took a shuddering step backwards. No. It couldn't be. The newspaper in front of him had to be a lie. The Joker wasn't alive. Batman cared more than that, cared too much to let his murderer walk.

 

It had been a bad week. Waking up in the Lazarus Pit, getting pushed off a cliff, and now this. This random American newspaper on a stand in Germany, only there for tourists who wanted news from home. This random American paper claiming that Batman had put the Joker back into Arkham.

 

Batman and _Robin_ had put the Joker back in Arkham.

 

Something wet traced down his cheek, and he raced back to his hotel room, slamming the door behind him.

 

Hours. Hours and many broken objects later, he stood alone in the room, thinking of what to do next.

 

Talia had said she could get him trainers. People who knew how to do _things_ , and he would probably take her up on that. All knowledge was useful. Knowledge was what kept him alive on the streets. Lack of knowledge, not knowing that his mother was so far under Joker's thumb, had gotten him killed.

 

But then what?

 

A half formed plan swam into his thoughts. One involving Bruce, the Joker, a decision, and a lot of explosives. But he brushed it away. Batman had replaced him. Clearly, he meant nothing to the man, despite years of partnership, years of considering the man to be his father. Besides, if anything would convince Jason that Batman would never kill, it was this. He had been _murdered_ , and the Joker was still laughing. Better not to waste his time on it.

 

But at the end of the day, he still wanted to help people. Not in the inefficient way that Batman did. Blackgate never kept a prisoner for very long, and Arkham was so much worse. Better to condemn the murderers and rapists to death than let them escape.

 

Better for the victims, the families of the victims, and future victims. It would spare them long, messy trials where rape victims had to relive every moment of the worst day of their lives in front of judge and jury. Trials where lawyers drudged up every sordid moment in a murder victim's past to convince the jury that the murderer wasn't _totally_ wrong in what they did. No, better to skip that altogether.

 

Now. Where.

 

Gotham was out of bounds. Being that close to Batman... he would probably try and kill him. Or leave a clue as to his identity. No, that was definitely out of the question. But it would have to be somewhere just as filthy as Gotham, or he would have no work.

 

The idea dawned on him, and he smiled. Bludhaven. That cesspool made Gotham look like paradise. Nightwing sometimes patrolled there, but a quick internet search said that he was in New York, and it didn't look like he was moving.

 

And a name.

 

Another tear escaped his eye, dashed away with a quick swipe of his hand. The only name he had ever wanted was Robin. Robin hadn't been his originally, but he'd _made_ it his with a sarcastic remark and a solid punch.

 

Robin hadn't been his.

 

Birds fly. And at the time Dick had picked the name, he'd been scared to death of heights. Br- Batman had chosen his name because of a childhood fear of bats.

 

What was he scared of?

 

The answer was simple. He closed his eyes and _heard_ laughter, _felt_ the metal striking his back, _saw_ a blood red grin surrounded by white. His eyes snapped open. Joker. He was scared of the Joker. Yeah. That made sense, considering.

 

But he couldn't use “Joker” as his new name.

 

Joker had been “Red Hood” once, hadn't he? That's what Batman believed anyways. Jason was more of the opinion that Joker had risen from the depths of hell, tossed out because he creeped out the demons down there.

 

Red Hood had a lot of history in Gotham. The Red Hood gang had been around for years. Urban legend said that the person under it was never the same twice, or that the Red Hood formed of mist and blood spatter, only to dissolve once his crime was committed. The Red Hod drew all the attention and the police while his minions did small crime everywhere else.

 

But it would work. He was nothing now. Dead. He didn't exist. Forcing out a small laugh, he nodded. Talia didn't know how he'd been resurrected. For all he knew, he was made of mist and blood spatter. And maybe once he was done, he would dissolve, and leave the world a better place than it had been before.

 

Pulling out the money that had been in the bag Talia had given him, he tossed enough cash on the bed to cover the damages to the room. Then he hitched the bag on his shoulder, and closed the door behind him. He had a teacher to meet.

 

* * *

 

A half a year later, the Red Hood started making his mark on Bludhaven. But like he'd thought, Batman didn't care. It wasn't Gotham, it was out of his jurisdiction.

 

 _Well,_ he thought as he sat at his kitchen table, cleaning his guns, _at least he's predictable_.

 

It had been a month, and he was still nothing but legend and whispers. It made sense. None of the people who saw him normally lived to tell about it. The only proof that he existed at all was a fuzzy picture someone had caught of him grappling away from an exploding warehouse, and a list of fresh corpses as long as his arm.

 

The newspapers condemned his actions. The people were nervous. Ninety percent of the populace had their hands in something dirty, and they were worried that he would start branching out.

 

He had no plans to, honestly. There were enough murderers and rapists in this city to keep him happy for years. If he counted the dealers who sold to kids, he could probably work for a decade and still have people to shoot in the face.

 

But that was later. For now, his guns were clean and the sun was going down. Standing, stretching out a kink in his back, he moved over to his weapons rack. His apartment was simple, but clean. As one of the buildings belonging to a mob boss, it had to be. It probably wasn't smart living with the mafia while killing them by the dozens, but as far as the building super knew, he was an aspiring writer, which is why he kept weird hours and rarely left his apartment. Plus, he tipped well. Very well. Drug rings were very generous in their donations to his cause.

 

The weapon rack was his pride and joy. Rocket launchers, assault rifles, hand guns, sniper rifles, shot guns, staves, swords of all types, shurikens, and his knives. Oh, his knives. He had everything from combat to butterfly to throwing to kris, and so much more besides. All specially developed to his _very_ exacting standards. Namely, the ability to cut a Bat cable. Preparing for the future and all.

 

He stocked up, then headed for his window.

 

As he swung he had to stifle a yawn or six. Ugh, he was tired. He'd been running himself ragged, falling back on work patterns he'd started when he was Robin. Maybe he should take a day off.

 

His targets tonight were very well researched, as all his targets were. He didn't want to kill an innocent by accident after all. Only three tonight. Davie Lynn, Anita Cross and Darius Travers were the usual scum bags. Lynn had snapped, killed four of his coworkers in full view of twenty seven witnesses. But the court was trying to get him off with an insanity plea. Cross ran a women's shelter, but sold the pretty ones into the sex trade. And Travers was her most loyal customer, but not for the reasons one would think. The girls he bought were experimented on, to find new biotoxins that he could sell to guerrillas for millions.

 

Lynn was easy. He was in the county jail, and the windows weren't bullet proof. Why would they be? The police were in the pocket of the crooks, and no crook would attack an investment like that. So, he set up on the building opposite, aimed, and fired. Lynn's head exploded, and Red Hood was four blocks away before the cops opened his cell.

 

Tracking down Cross wouldn't be too hard either. But it had to be handled more delicately. The girls in the shelter right now didn't know about Cross's extracurriculars, and there was no need to traumatize them like that. So he waited.

 

And waited.

 

And eventually, Cross went to her office. With a remarkable stroke of luck, she went straight to a safe, hidden behind a dresser and a hidden panel both. Taking out the sheaf of papers therein, she started reading them. Hopefully, they were shipping manifestos.

 

His gun was silenced, and Cross went down just as easy as Lynn did. Leaping through her window, he went over to the door and flicked the lock closed. No reason for an employee to bust in without warning. Then he went over to the body and the papers scattered around it.

 

Shipping manifestos. Bingo.

 

He took out a camera and carefully took a picture of each page. If the Bludhaven police didn't do anything about this, he could send the manifestos to the FBI and let them handle it. And if nothing else, well, he could go get the girls back. Someone had to.

 

The papers even had Travers' address on them, the one he had the girls delivered to. Perfect. He grappled out of the office, putting a call in to the police about a murder, anonymously of course. Hopefully, the cops had more tact than to let the women in the shelter see.

 

Travers had a warehouse at the very edge of town, one of the ones that looked decrepit and abandoned on the outside, but pristine and high tech inside. But not quite high tech enough to prevent him from lifting a pane of skylight glass and taking a potshot at the twisted scientist inside.

 

Three bullets, three targets. This seemed like a successful day.

 

Taking the utmost care, he dropped into the warehouse, looking for the girls Travers had used. And, unfortunately, he found them. Their bodies were covered in boils and sores, their limbs twisted.

 

With a heavy heart, Jason tried to give them a semblance of dignity. He straightened them, put their hands on their chests, closed their eyes. A few were naked, and he covered them in blankets. He moved them far from the place they had died, outside, under the stars. Since they had all died of disease, he washed his gloves in the emergency station. He'd burn them later. Then, he started on the notes.

 

Travers' notes were extensive, but there was only one copy. The man had been incredibly paranoid of someone stealing them, stealing his work, and so they almost never left his sight. Jason burned them. All. The vials were carefully collected and put in a crate. He'd drop them off at a hazardous waste disposal center later.

 

It was while he was setting the explosives to blow the lab sky high that the knock came. “Mr. Travers? We have your newest subject!”

 

A quick look through the peephole confirmed the scumbag's identity. Trond Malley, Cross's delivery boy. From what Red Hood had been able to dig up, the man had been working for her for half a decade, and enjoyed... sampling the goods before delivery.

 

So he opened the door and shot him point blank.

 

And regretted it half a second later.

 

Brain matter and gore splattered on the girl, not even fifteen years old yet, standing behind Malley. As he fell, the hand he had gripping her arm loosened, and she followed him to the ground, screaming.

 

Jason didn't know what to do. He'd wanted to save these people, but he'd never thought about actually _interacting_ with them.

 

It had been years since he was Robin.

 

The only people he'd talked to were informants, teachers, Talia and weapons dealers.

 

He didn't know how to comfort.

 

But the girl was screaming on the ground, her clothing disheveled, bits of skull in her hair, and he was the only one who could help.

 

“Hey. Shh. You're alright.” He crouched down, got down to her level, and carefully shuffled towards her. She looked back at him with wide eyes, growing wider when they caught sight of his helmet. With a curse at his thoughtlessness, he pulled it off, so incredibly thankful he'd worn a domino under it.

 

The expressionate, kind face worked wonders where the blank slate of a mask didn't. The girl's screams tapered off into hyperventilating. “Hey, whoa now. Slow, deep breaths. Shh, you're alive, no one's going to hurt you anymore.” Carefully manhandling her, he drew her knees up and shoved her head down between them. “Calm down, it's alright.”

 

Eventually, the words and the slow circles he was rubbing into her back calmed her down, just enough to speak. “You... you're... Ro...” She blinked, swallowed, and tried again. “You're the one from the papers. The Red Hood. You killed him.”

 

He'd read the newspapers. What he was doing was horrible, atrocious. But still, he said a confirming, “Yeah.”

 

With another swallow and a nod, she said, “Good.”

 

That was surprising. “What's your name?”

 

“Tara. Tara Southers. He...” She sniffed. “That man, he...” And she burst into tears, throwing herself into Jason's chest.

 

Startled, his hands froze in mid air for a minute before relaxing and holding the girl who wanted comfort. He didn't know why she trusted him. After what she'd been through, he wouldn't blame her if she didn't trust a man ever again. Maybe it was the hero thing. But he wasn't a hero.

 

But he was here, and he was stroking a calming hand down her back while she cried her innocence away. And they sat like that for an hour, until her tears stopped and she pulled away. Then they sat in silence for another twenty minutes, until Tara asked, “What now?”

 

“Well. I have to blow up this lab. Drop off these biotoxins at the disposal facility.” He might as well tell her. She'd already seen his face. Well, his domino masked face. Not much else to hide.

 

“Biotoxins?”

 

“Yeah. You got sold to a psycho who uses young ladies in his experiments.”

 

She took a moment to absorb what he'd said. “So you didn't just avenge me. You saved my life.”

 

“I guess?”

 

Twin arms threw themselves around his neck. It took all of his willpower to not counterattack the hug. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” And she started crying again.

 

They couldn't really wait much longer. The sun would be up in an hour and he had to be long gone by then. So he picked Tara up, carrying her bridal style when she refused to let go of his neck. Once they were a safe distance away, he hit the button on his remote detonator. Then he called the cops. They were dirty, the lot of them, but they were decent enough to get the victims back to their families if they had them, and proper burials if they didn't.

 

Tara had a friend in one of the few upperclass areas in town. She'd been at the shelter because she didn't want to impose, but with nowhere left to go, she agreed with Red Hood that it was for the best.

 

He dropped her off, but she still looked freaked out. So he made a decision. “Look, Tara. If you ever want to talk, or you need help or something, call me.” And he handed the girl a phone number. One of his burner cells. “I'll answer. I promise. And I'll do what I can.”

 

Looking at the number in her hand like it was solid gold, she said, her voice barely a whisper, but so intense. “Thank you Red Hood. I will.” And she smiled, a small broken smile, but the first one he had seen on her. “Take care of yourself, alright?” And she knocked on her friend's door. Jason watched from a nearby rooftop as the door opened, the two girls talked, then hugged and disappeared inside the house.

 

And for the first time since the Pit, he felt... good.

 


	2. Lincoln and Wedding Bears

A month after Tara, he was sitting on a rooftop, stitching a hole in his shoulder. In that time, he'd given fifteen kids his number. His eighth burner phone, the one that he thought he would never get around to using when he'd gotten it, was now kept fully charged and on him at all times. He even had a back up battery in his belt.

 

He was just pulling the last stitch, some drug dealer had gotten lucky, when the familiar ringtone went off. It had barely gotten past its first ring when he answered. “Talk to me.”

 

“ _I'm sorry, Paul said this was a good number to call if I got into trouble or if I needed to talk and I just really need to talk and-_ ”

 

“Whoa. Hold up kid.” Paul. He'd caught the kid a week ago stealing hubcaps from mob cars. Given him fifteen dozen cans of vegetables and tuna and the number. “Where are you?”

 

A sniffle. “ _Corner of Fourth and Lincoln. On top of the Providence building._ ”

 

That didn't sound good. “Just hold up. I'll be there in two minutes.”

 

One minute and forty five seconds later, he dropped next to the kid. Twelve years old, male, and sitting on the edge of the building, looking at the ground like it was his destiny. He pulled off his helmet. “So you wanted to talk?”

 

“Yeah.” But the kid just pulled his knees up to his chest and dropped his chin on top, still staring at the ground. So Jason gave him the time he needed. Eventually, “Some kids at school have been bullying me. It's... it's gotten bad. Really bad. I...” He dropped his head, until his eyebrows were on his knees. “I don't want to live in a world where people do stuff like this and get away with it.”

 

Jason gave out a quiet laugh. “Don't know what to tell you kid. I'm probably the worst person to ask for help with this. My entire vigilante career is punishing people who do bad stuff.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. But don't copy me, seriously.” They sat in silence for a bit. And Jason thought back to his own school experiences. Before Mom died, he'd been bullied for being the poor kid, for being interested in learning and for trying to be kind. Eventually, he'd built up a thick skin, pushed back, made a terror of himself. Things hadn't changed much after he'd been adopted by Bruce. But then he was the charity case. And none of this was helpful to the kid. “What's your name?”

 

“Rahman Blum. And before you ask, it's a family name.”

 

“Ha. Wasn't going to ask. And Paul. He's a friend of yours?”

 

“Yeah. My only friend. He's a good guy. A bit klepto, but good.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Even after the fifteen dozen cans of food, the kid had tried to nick Red Hood's belt. “And you're ok letting a good guy like that mourn his friend?”

 

That gave the kid a pause. “No. Not really.”

 

“Didn't think so. And let me tell you. Even if you did jump off this roof, those bullies would just pick a new target. Someone smaller, younger, weaker. You're alright letting some kid take that kind of punishment?”

 

“No.” And Rahman was crying now. “No, I'm not. Even with all this hurt, I'd still rather it was me.”

 

Another moment of strained silence. “If you jumped off this roof, I'd be sad. I just met you, but I would miss you. All the friends you'll make in the future, they'll be sad, even if they won't know why.”

 

“What friends?” He sniffled and ran a hand under his nose. “I'm a freak. Paul only hangs out with me because no one else wants a klepto for a friend.”

 

“That's probably not the only reason. He probably hangs out with you because he likes you.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I don't think he would have given you my number if he didn't.” All of the kids he had given his number to had treated it like it was precious, like they would never let it out of their sight. “As for future friends, well, I know a few people. People who could use a friend like you.”

 

“What's so good about me?”

 

“You hang out with Paul, right? Even though he steals your stuff?”

 

“He doesn't mean it. And he gives it back later. Says sorry.”

 

Jason snapped his fingers, as if the statement was a revelation. “Right. And you know that because you gave him a chance. You got to know him before you judged him. Everyone needs a friend like that.” He pulled out his burner phone and started going through the recent calls. He copied down a number and passed it over. “Here. Her name is Sylvia Bentley. She has no friends, but she goes through life hoping to find one. Give her a call. Tell her your story. Or don't. It's up to you. But you won't know unless you call her.”

 

And Rahman wiped his nose again and smiled. “Yeah. Thanks Red Hood. You know, you're not as bad as the papers say you are.”

 

With a chuckle, he pulled his helmet back on and grabbed the kid by the waist with one arm, pulling his grapple with the other. “Of course not. I'm worse. Now where do you live?”

 

* * *

 

With a small grunt, he pulled the kid up on the ledge next to him. “Here you go kid. As promised.” And he handed over the bag.

 

“Wow.” The kid, Darius Green, opened up the bag. Inside were two stuffed teddy bears, vintage ones. “I can't believe you found them.” And his eyes grew misty.

 

Darius had lost his parents recently. His house, and everything in it, had been sold to pay for his dad's medical bills, and his mom had worked herself to death trying to pay the remaining debt. He had nothing left of them.

 

Nothing, but these two bears. They were wedding bears, one in a white dress, one in a tux. Apparently, they'd sat on the mantle for Darius's entire childhood, and he'd always admired them. Secretly of course. He was a teenager now and didn't have time for bears.

 

But with his parents gone, he wanted something, anything, to remind him of them.

 

“It wasn't too difficult.” Jason had gone through every pawn shop in Bludhaven looking for those bears. “Just keep them safe, you hear?”

 

“Right. Can do.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Darius asked, “Why did you help me? I mean, this request must have been pretty strange.”

 

“Not the strangest. But if you must know,” carefully, Jason reached inside his belt and pulled out a hair clip. “This is all I have left of my mother. Just this. She always wanted me to go to school, to become something better than what she was, than what Dad was. But after she died...” He sighed. This never got any easier to tell. “I had nothing. I didn't have an aunt to take me in. I had to drop out of school, spend all my days looking for food. But through it all, I had this. And it was the only comfort I had.”

 

He smiled and looked at Darius. “So I get it. I do. And it's not a weird request at all.”

 


	3. Pantry Girl and Lost at Lex's

He hadn't, in a _million_ years, expected what came next.

 

It was a normal day. Cleaning his guns. Polishing his swords. Doing whatever until the sun went down and he could fly. And, for background noise, he had the six o'clock news on.

 

They were running a piece on the Red Hood, asking citizens what they thought about him. Most of it was pretty on par with what he'd heard before. “Red Hood is scum of the earth!” “What's to stop Red Hood from moving away from crooks and onto regular citizens?” “Why isn't the police department doing more to stop the Red Hood?” Never mind that the police had been trying to catch him for months now. But, being in the pocket of the crooks as they were, they didn't have the resources they needed to catch him.

 

A familiar face caught his attention, and it took him a minute to remember why. That was Nia. Nia Moray, nine years old. Her parents had been abusing her, had her cornered in the pantry. So he'd pulled her out the window, called the cops, and now she was living with Tara and her friend Michelle while Michelle's parents got a nice little monthly stipend to assist in the two girls' care. They would have taken the girls anyways, but Jason didn't think they should get beggared doing so.

 

On the screen, the ridiculously plastic reporter held a microphone in Nia's face. “ _Little girl, what do you think of the Red Hood? Isn't he scary?_ ”

 

But Nia looked honestly confused. “ _Not at all. How can a guy that nice be scary?_ ”

 

The reporter lurched back, shocked, but regained her composure remarkably fast. “ _But he's a criminal. He kills people every day._ ”

 

But Nia shook her head. “ _Yeah, he does do that. But at the end of the day, he's just a guy who wants to protect kids. I think he's a hero._ ”

 

Another kid walked into the frame while the reporter tried to get her words back. “ _Ooh, what's this about?_ ”

 

“ _This lady is asking me about my opinion on Red Hood._ ”

 

The boy's eyes lit up. “ _He's so cool! I saw him talking a kid out of a suicide! Seriously, he's my hero! I'm asking Mom to find me a Red Hood t shirt so I can wear it to school!_ ”

 

The reporter latched onto the idea of t shirts with a vengeance. “ _Are you saying we should endorse this kind of vigilante behaviour?_ ”

 

The other kid “hmm”d. “ _You use a lot of big words. I'm only ten. But I think that if adults were nicer to kids, then maybe Red Hood wouldn't have to go out at night. Maybe then he wouldn't have to listen to you be mean to him on TV._ ”

 

Nia nodded sagely. “ _My foster mom said that if I don't have anything nice to say, then I shouldn't say anything at all. You're not a nice lady. You should be quiet._ ”

 

The station cut the live feed as Jason rolled on the floor, laughing.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, you're where?”

 

A sniffle on the other end of the line. “ _I don't know! I don't know and I'm scared and-_ ”

 

“Ok, ok. Calm down.” Sighing, Jason put a hand on the back of his head. Around him, thugs were groaning, or dead, but he couldn't finish dealing with them just now. “Describe your surroundings.”

 

“ _Red -sniff- red building, and it's really tall and shiny._ ”

 

“Hm.” He slammed the warehouse door behind him, using his other burner phone to text the cops. He was doing that a lot lately. “Sounds like the local LexCorp building. Hang tight kid, I'm on my way.”

 

There was a breath of silence. The kind where someone is nodding, forgetting that they're on the phone and the person they're talking to can't see them. Those were usually followed by, “ _Yes. Thanks._ ” Yup.

 

To keep the kid from freaking out, Jason kept talking to him. “So, kid. Tell me about yourself.”

 

“ _Sure.”_ A pause,while the kid caught his breath. “ _Um. My name is Uriah Chen. I'm eleven years old. My friend Jackie gave me your number. Just in case of emergencies._ ”

 

“Right. And how did you get lost Uriah?” The kid mumbled an answer. “Didn't catch that buddy.”

 

“ _I ran away. And I shouldn't have because Mom's just doing her best and it's not easy since Dad died and we had to move but I just got mad and ran off and now I'm don't know where I am!_ ”

 

Landing on top of the Lexcorp building, Jason started scanning the surrounding streets. Lots of people, some on cell phones, but none with the body language of someone seriously freaked out. Wait. There, by the dumpster. “That's alright Uriah. I know where you are.”

 

Another sniff. “ _You do?_ ”

 

He pulled his grapple and dived off the building towards the person cowering behind the dumpster, flinching every time someone walked near him and wiping his nose on his sweater sleeve. Firing his grapple at the last second, he swung to a stop right on top of the dumpster, making the kid jump four feet in the air. Phone still beside his helmet, he said, “Yeah, I do. Now let's get out of here before someone decides to mug you.” Clicking the phone shut, Jason held out an arm invitingly.

 

With only a second of hesitation, Uriah grabbed on, and Jason hit retract. Once they were safely on top of a nearby coffee chop, Jason took off his helmet. “So, Uriah, where do you live?”

 

The kid took his phone back out of his pocket. An old flip phone, not one that would have GPS on it. No wonder the kid had gotten lost. “I have it written down here... 1135 42 street.”

 

Letting out a low whistle, Jason allowed himself to be impressed. “Wow. That's clear across town. And you got all the way here without getting stabbed? Good job kid!” Uriah looked less than impressed. More... freaked out actually.

 

Carefully, he let out a sigh. “Right. So. You're new in town. And with how you flinch at every shadow, you're going to get mugged.” There was no point denying it. It was going to happen. Thugs could spot an easy target a mile away, and this kid was an easy target. “So, how about we make it more difficult for whoever thinks they can take your wallet?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Get in your best stance kid. I'm going to teach you how to fight dirty.”

 

Three hours later, Jason dropped Uriah off at his house. They were sweaty, and covered in rooftop tar, but Uriah would stand a chance now. Against a knife at any rate. Jason had told him, under no uncertain terms, that he should do whatever a gun wielding thug told him, unless it directly harmed him.

 

But, of course, he'd taught Uriah how to disarm a gun wielding thug anyways. Just in case.

 

Two days later, a portable GPS would be found on Uriah's window sill.

 


	4. Alley Rat and Report Cars

Not over it. Definitely not over it.

 

It was late, but the electronics store was still running one of its screens, to a news channel. With Breaking News scrolling across the bottom of the screen, the Batmobile chased the gaudy Joker truck through downtown Gotham. There wasn't any sound, not through three inches of shatter-proof glass, but Red Hood could see what happened. Joker had stolen a few million from a bank. Joker had shot a late-night teller in the skull. Joker would walk away from this alive.

 

He couldn't watch anymore. Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he ducked into an alley. With a roar, of pain, of rage, he slammed his fist into the wall. “Why? Why?! _Why!?_ ” Each question was punctuated by his knuckles meeting the brick. Finally, on the last hit, his fist half an inch into the newly mangled surface, he rested his head on the wall, his helmet making a slight click at the contact. “Why didn't you kill him?” The question came out as a whisper. “Why?” A tear leaked out of his eye, soaking into his mask.

 

A shuffle caught his attention and he whirled, extracting his fist from the brick with more than a little effort. “Mister Hood? Are you alright?”

 

It was a kid. Just a kid. He was wearing a thick green hoodie four sizes too big and from the state of him, he probably lived in this alley.

 

“Yeah, I'm,” he completely forgot he was wearing a helmet, just for a moment, and tried to wipe away the tears from his cheek. His bruised hand collided with unforgiving polycarbonate, drawing a hiss from his mouth. “I'm fine.”

 

The kid scoffed. “Yeah, you look it.” With all the sarcasm a nine year old could muster and a roll of his eyes, the kid stepped forward. “Here, let me see.”

 

It was shock. That was the only reason Jason let the kid grab his hand and pull off his glove. He hadn't been expecting it. That was all. But the kid's hands were gentle as they inspected the self-inflicted damage. “You need to get some ice on this. And maybe don't use it for a while.” He poked at Jason's middle knuckle, and the sudden stab of pain elicited another hiss. “Yup. This one is cracked. No punching people for a bit, you got it?”

 

Yeah. That was going to happen. He would probably forget and sock a guy in the face. The crack would take months to heal. But he could live through it. So he just nodded.

 

The kid sat down on the ground and gestured for Jason to sit next to him. Pulling off his helmet, he complied. “I just wanted to thank you. My cousin was going to kill himself, but you talked him out of it.”

 

“Oh. Um. You're welcome.” He wasn't sure which suicide the kid was talking about. In the three months since he'd started giving out his number, he'd talked six people off of bridges and buildings, and had one kid with a gun to his head that he'd had to soothe over the phone. So after a moment, he asked, “Do you live here?”

 

The kid stiffened. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

 

With the barest hint of a smile, Jason shook his head. “No. I lived somewhere similar when I was your age. If you move that garbage can over there,” he pointed, tracing a line with his finger, “and scrounge up a blanket or a tarp, then you'll be warmer when the weather starts getting colder. That corner is more out of the wind.”

 

Another moment passed with the kid thinking his suggestion over. “Yeah... that might work. Thanks Mister Hood!”

 

Jason smiled, all his earlier anger at Batman and the Joker gone. “No problem. Hey, what's your name?”

 

“Leo Kuiper. Is this the part of the conversation where you give me your number and tell me to call if I need anything?”

 

He let out a snort at that. “Got me in one kid.” And he passed over the little slip of paper. A business card of sorts, but not a professional one. Not anything he would have to take to a printer. He was _not_ putting his phone number on a computer. Just a little hand written slip cut out of card stock. He kept a few in his belt now. “Take care of yourself Leo. And seriously, if you need anything, even if it's just food or company, got it?”

 

He knew from experience how lonely it got on the streets. How desperate someone could get not knowing where the next meal was coming from. So he was relieved when Leo nodded. “You got it. Talk to you later!”

 

With a smile and a wave, Red Hood grappled up and away.

 

The next three weeks had children shouting at him to be careful with his hand. A little cowed by how fast information spread, he obliged, and the crack in his knuckle was healed in no time.

 

* * *

 

It was ten o'clock and Red Hood was just about to go out his window for patrol. So, of course, it was the perfect time for his phone to ring.

 

He didn't even have a chance to say hello before the kid on the other end blurted out, “ _I have an assignment due tomorrow and it's worth half my grade and I've barely started!_ ”

 

“Um. Alright.” Was this one of the calls where the kid just needed to talk about his problems? That happened sometimes.

 

“ _Please, can you help me with it?_ ” Ok, not one of those calls.

 

The kid's voice was deep, so he was definitely in high school. And Jason, for all his experience, hadn't exactly graduated high school. Dying in his last year of middle school probably had something to do with that. So even if he did say yes, he probably wouldn't be any help. At all. Still, with a sigh, he said, “I'll do what I can. What's your address?”

 

Ten minutes later, he was perched on the windowsill of Greg Wilkinson, age sixteen. The teenager was quite literally pulling his hair out of his head in stress and hadn't noticed the vigilante sitting crosslegged and helmetless behind him. “So,” Jason smiled as Greg jumped half a foot into the air, “what's your assignment about?”

 

“Oh thank God you're here! It's this report I need for my engineering class. I don't even know why I need to do it, I want to be a structural engineer, not a mechanical engineer, but it's due in the morning and I have no idea what I'm doing and-”

 

A simple hand to the shoulder stopped the barrage of panicked words. “Got it. Stupid assignment. But what's it about?”

 

“Cars. Makes and models and how they run. How to assemble a engine from scratch, how to rework a body job.”

 

Jason let out a sigh of relief. Cars. He was good at cars. One time, the Batmobile had been on the fritz, so he and... Well. The Batmobile had been disassembled and put back together. It had been a fun day. “Right. Start with something simple.” He looked down at the sheet of paper with the assignment printed on it. “You need to research four different cars, so let's start there.”

 

And so it went. The cars were all from different companies and from different countries, by Jason's suggestion. Teachers tended to give higher marks if a four-part assignment wasn't the same rehashing of information for four different things. A history assignment on clothing would get more marks if the clothes were from different eras and origins. He would know. He'd gotten full marks on that particular assignment.

 

From picking the cars, they had to research the pros and cons of each model, and figure out improvements to each con. Greg, once he calmed down, was exceptional at finding things on the internet, so he handled most of the research. Jason, in the mean time, started writing down list after list of what he would do to improve each car. He might have gotten a bit carried away and started sketching blueprints.

 

After a few hours, Greg's little brother Tomas woke up. They had been quiet, but Tomas was a light sleeper. So the boy, ten years old with a stutter, sat up with them. He was the one to point out that they had Golf written down on the paper, but were researching the Jetta.

 

After that, they'd had to outline how to make an engine. With Jason there to answer question, Greg was reasonably confident he could do it himself, so Jason busied himself with more diagrams. Images of carburetors and alternators took over one of Greg's workbooks. They weren't very good, and Greg probably wouldn't use them for the report, but it gave Jason something to do and it really helped for him to have visual references when he was trying to explain exactly why fuses were totally necessary.

 

As for the body job portion of the assignment, it was probably only there as a time filler. It had nothing to do with mechanics. So Jason steered Greg away from doors and windows to the underside of the car. Axles and brakes were more important, as were fuel lines.

 

Five a.m., Tomas had passed out an hour ago, and the report was done. Grabbing his helmet, Jason paused on his way out the window. “You sure you'll be alright?”

 

Greg looked like crap. And that was being nice. But the kid smiled. “Better than. I'll catch some sleep in first period. History. And thanks Red Hood. You probably saved my career with this.”

 

Jason snorted and pulled on his helmet. “Right. You would have made it up somehow.”

 

“No, I'm serious. The class I'm in, the course I'm going for, only the top three students make it. So really, thank you.”

 

The kid sounded utterly serious. Jason didn't really have a reply to that, so he shot off his grapple, gave a quick wave, and disappeared.

 

It was too late to do anything regarding patrol. So the Red Hood just grappled back to his apartment. When he drifted to sleep an hour later, his dreams were filled with fast cars and many red checkmarks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd how fast information spreads, huh? Wonder how that happened? 
> 
> For anyone wondering, yes, this fic is completed. I'll get the rest of the chapters up within a few days, but for those who are feeling impatient, they're also on FF and tumblr under the same username. Also, a sequel, which is just starting.
> 
> Also, should mention, chapter 5 is where we get some heavy stuff. So. Brace yourself.


	5. One Good Day and Greenwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter include self harm and school shootings.

The razor came down. Jason reached out, grabbing the hand holding it with his own, stopping it a fraction of an inch from touching skin.

 

They stood there, Jason half in and half out of the bathroom window, the girl sitting on the toilet. The sister of the boy who had called him, worried that his sister was hurting herself. Amelia and Elliot Tate. She didn't even react to the strange hand holding her own, preventing her from dragging the razor across her skin once again. The silence stretched.

 

Amelia eventually started pulling at her trapped hand, but even from his precarious position, Jason's grip was absolute and unmovable.

 

But beyond this...

 

Jason had no idea what to do.

 

It had seemed simple when he'd been outside the window. Go in. Stop the girl from mutilating her forearm. Job done, happy day.

 

But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Sure, he'd stopped her, for now. There was nothing preventing her from burying the metal in her skin once he was gone. Nothing except what he did next. What ever reasons he could give her, or help her find, that would make her stop. Hopefully for good.

 

As usual though, he just had to screw it up. “Are you stupid? Whatever you're going through, this is the absolute worst way to deal with it!” Oh yeah Jason. Way to uplift her self esteem. Good job.

 

“Yeah. Probably.” Her voice was tired, small, and _very_ young sounding. Which made sense. Amelia was only thirteen. “But it's all I have.”

 

“What do you mean?” Keep her talking, the more information he had, the better he could find a way to help her.

 

“It's...” From experience, Jason knew it could be easier to talk to a stranger. Someone who could judge you all they wanted, and would be gone from your life with no guarantee of coming back. Whatever was bothering Amelia, she hadn't told her brother. But maybe... Her expression didn't change, but tears started flowing down her face. “It's my fault. I'm not good enough. I'm never good enough.”

 

There was a natural lull in the conversation. Jason didn't really know what to say, so he kept quiet. Amelia wasn't trying to get at her wrist anymore, so Jason loosened his grip so he could climb the rest of the way through the window and kneel beside her. While he was moving, he pulled the razor out of her hand and pocketed it. She didn't notice.

 

“I'm not good enough and that's why no one cares about me. I just... I can't!” And her hands went for her hair, blood from the cut Jason hadn't been able to prevent dripping onto her pajamas.

 

“Shh.” _I don't know what to do, I don't know how to handle this_. “I care. I promise, I do. Just calm down and tell me. Anything you want to.” _What do I do, what do I do_? But he carefully lifted her from the toilet and into his lap. He gently tugged her injured wrist out of her hair and started bandaging it.

 

“But I can't. You'll think I'm worthless, that I'm weak.” She gave a sad chuckle and gestured towards her wrist. “You probably think I'm weak anyways.”

 

He didn't answer right away, covering his silence with motion. The razor blade hadn't exactly been _clean_. From what Elliot had said, the scars and injuries had started recently, so Amelia probably didn't know to sterilize the razor between uses. Disinfectant and bandages were pulled from his belt.

 

He really had no experience with this kind of thing. He couldn't say that he understood it. At all. But a friend of a friend in elementary school had done self harm.. His friend had tried her best to explain it to him, tricky, for a nine year old. “Hm. No. I don't. I think that you're feeling a lot, more than someone your age ever should. And I think that you don't know _how_ to deal with that.

 

“I... something happened to me. Something bad. And when I recovered from it, physically I mean, I didn't know how to handle it. I still don't. My idea of dealing with it is putting on a giant red helmet and shooting criminals in the face.” He gave his own chuckle as he used a bit of medical tape to hold the bandage in place. “What you're doing is probably healthier than what I'm doing, to be honest. At least the only blood on your hands is your own.

 

“But I don't think you're weak. So please, tell me.” He grabbed her other hand, the one without any bandages on it. Not to say it was clean. There was a fairly fresh line, a few days old, and a few scars older than that. He carefully traced the fresh one. “This one. What were you feeling when you made this one?”

 

“I failed a test.” And she started crying again, breath coming in quick, short gasps. “I know. It's such a tiny little thing. And... and I know it's a stupid reason! Ok, I know! But everything is a tiny reason and then it becomes everything! It wasn't even an important test!” She curled in on herself, hands going back into her hair, pulling at it, hard.

 

He was way out of his depth with this one. With nothing else to do, he started rocking her, slowly, back and forth. “Just one bad thing, huh? I know the feeling.” And he let the silence stretch again.

 

She sniffled, still crying, but less now. “Is this the part where you tell me it gets better?”

 

“I wish I could. I really do.” But that would be a lie. Giving her false hope would just send her right back here when things got tough again. Here, or worse. “Honestly, it probably gets worse. It'll get worse and worse and it'll make today seem like gold. But I need to ask you something.” And he waited, for her to pull her head from her hands and look up at him curiously. “What did you do last Tuesday?”

 

She looked startled. Another quiet sniff, and from the look on her face, she was having difficulty remembering. But eventually, she got it. “I went to the park with Elliot. We played basketball, and then we went to the movies.”

 

Jason knew that already. Elliot had told him. Amelia had taken off her sweater in the theater, something she hadn't done in months, and even in the dim light of the movie, he had been able to see the scars on her wrists. “Did you have fun?”

 

Amelia smiled. “Yes. Probably the most fun I'd had in a long time. It was so good to see him again.”

 

Their parents were in the middle of a messy divorce, Elliot had said on the phone. He hadn't seen her in ages. Trying to justify why he hadn't noticed her self harm to someone who understood regardless.

 

He pulled out a recorder from his belt and started it. “Tell me all about it.”

 

And she did. From start to finish. The sky had been cloudless, the day had been warm. There had been a man at the park walking his dog and she had gotten to pet the Collie. Basketball had been exhilarating. She hadn't played in months, not since before the divorce. She had been thoroughly trounced by her little brother, but hadn't minded a bit. He was getting so good at this game. If he didn't make the pro leagues, she would be very surprised.

 

The walk to the theater was filled with talk. Elliot had caught her up on everything he'd done at school. They'd stopped at a ice cream cart for two cones. Then they'd gone to the dollar store. They had a tradition. Any time they went to the movies, they would buy popcorn and pop, yes. But they would also sneak in a bag of gummi worms each. Just because they could.

 

The movie itself had been fantastic. A space comedy slash action, with a soundtrack full of classic rock, Amelia's favourite musical era. She had cried when one of the characters had sacrificed himself, but the ending made it all better.

 

Then they'd gone to the corner to wait for their respective parent to pick them up. Underneath the glares that Mom and Dad directed at each other, they'd hugged and said, “See you soon.”

 

Jason stopped the recording. “Right. That day. Was it any old day for you?”

 

“No. It was perfect.”

 

“See, that's the thing with terrible days. They make the good ones sparkle. It was basketball and movies. Nothing really special. For another person, it would be just any day.” He rested his hand on her head, so she couldn't grab at her hair again. “I need you to do me a favour.” He showed her the recorder. “From now on, whenever you have a good day, describe it. In as much detail as you can. And when it all seems like too much, when the world is falling apart at the seams, listen to this.

 

“Things will probably not get better, not for a long, long time. But that doesn't mean the good days are over. You just need a reminder of that.” She took the recorder with shaking fingers and hit play. She started a bit at the sound of her voice, telling herself what a good day could be.

 

“But what if I don't have anymore good days? What if it's all terrible from here on?”

 

“You've got one good day on there.” He pointed out. “That should keep you going until the next one. But if it doesn't, if that's not enough, call Elliot. Call me. We'll listen. Tell us how all the little things became everything and eventually, they'll go back to being little things.”

 

She nodded into his jacket. They sat there, him with his arms a shield around her shoulders, protecting her from the horrors of the world, her with one hand clenched in his jacket, the other holding the recorder like a lifeline. Until she fell asleep. Until he stood, carried her to what he thought was her room and carefully laid her in bed, pulling the covers over her very vulnerable form.

 

He swung himself out of the window. He'd call Amelia in a week, to see how she was doing. And, although he would never know it, she would have two recordings by then. One of her perfect day with her brother. And one with the terrible day, the day when all the little things had become everything, the day the Red Hood had done his best to bring her home.

 

It would be a long process. So many terrible days, so many tiny things. But, every once in a while, a bright star of a good day.

 

* * *

 

No, he was sleeping.

 

The ringing was pretty insistent though.

 

But he was _sleeping_.

 

With a sigh, he dragged his arm up, grabbing at the phone on his night table. It took a few tries, but eventually, he got it out and open and next to his ear. “H'llo?”

 

“ _Greenwood High. There's someone here. Please._ ” The voice on the other end was young, male, and very, _very_ scared. There was gunfire in the background.

 

Suddenly awake, Jason got up, stumbling towards his closet. “I'm on my way. Just stay with me, alright?”

 

No time for his armor. He pulled on a t shirt and jeans, grabbed his domino and his belt and his best sniper rifle on the way out the window.

 

Greenwood High was ten minutes away by car. By grapple, it was four and a half. But still, it was too long. Through the speakers of his phone, he could hear someone, far from the kid who had called him, talking loudly and angrily. A woman. Jason could still hear gunshots.

 

Three rooftops away, he pulled the phone to his ear again. “Kid. Where is she?”

 

“ _Biology lab._ ”

 

“Doesn't help me, I'm outside. Which side of the building?”

 

There was a pause, filled with tense sniffling and uneven breathing. “ _Um. North I think. We're on the third floor._ ”

 

“Right.” He was on the south side of the building. North was no problem. Just a roof top away. He grappled over the evacuated students and teachers.

 

A gunshot sounded through the speaker and the boy cried out. The phone clattered as it skidded across the floor. The shooter's voice – she'd gone silent, why hadn't Jason noticed the shooter had stopped talking – came on the line. “ _Who are you talking to? The fucking cops?_ ” There was another clatter as the shooter picked up the phone. “ _Hey cop! If I see any of you shit eating pigs nearby, I'll shoot this kid in the skull._ ”

 

“Not a cop.” He was on the north side. He could see the kid, and the shooter. And his sights were lined up. “Just the last voice you're ever going to hear.” He took the shot.

 

The phone fell to the ground again. Through the window, he could see the kid reach for it and pull it to his ear. “ _Red...?_ ”

 

“I'm still here kid. Are you alright? Where did she get you?”

 

Other students were coming out of their collective hiding spots, barring the door, converging on their wounded. With a shaky breath, the kid answered, “ _In the shoulder._ ”

 

“Alright. Get one of the others to put pressure on it and _keep_ it there.” He wished he could go in and do it himself, but he couldn't. Not yet. “Kid, I know it hurts, but I need you to tell me if there's anyone else in the school. Any more shooters.”

 

There was conversation that Jason didn't catch as the kid conferred with the others. “ _Carrie says she heard shots. Maybe around the cafeteria, or maybe the gym. West side of the building._ ”

 

“Tell Carrie thanks.” He could hear sirens in the distance, but they wouldn't be able to do anything if there was another shooter in there, ready and willing to take hostages. So he grappled to the west side. Luckily, both the gym and the cafeteria were easy to spot. Unluckily, they were both abandoned. He scanned the windows he could see.

 

There! It looked like an English classroom, with all the students inside. Jason felt bile rise to his throat as he took in their positions. Kneeling, the lot of them, with their hands behind their heads. Like an execution line. The shooter in this room was male, massive, and gesturing wildly. Apparently, both of these crazies were talkers.

 

Not much talking to be done in the grave though. With a curse for the man's soul, he aimed and fired.

 

Jason's aim was as good as ever.

 

He hung around on the rooftop for a while. Listening. For any more shots, or screaming, or anything that could mean he missed one. The cops arrived, and the ambulances. Students and teachers were carted out on stretchers, at least two dozen of them. One body bag. Jason tried not to think about what that meant.

 

The kid called him two days later. “ _I just wanted to thank you. The cops said that if those two hadn't died, the body count probably would be in the double digits._ ”

 

“Yeah. I know.” He did know. The shooting had been all over the news. The shooters, Bryce and Mara Applebee, had been graduates of the school. “Graduates”. Both of them had barely passed. Apparently, they had blamed their miserable lives, both were unemployed and in massive debt, on their bad grades, and they blamed their bad grades on the “teachers who couldn't teach and the students who distracted us from our learning”. Anyone but themselves. Ten years later, with all the students they had attended with, and half the teachers, long gone, they had come back to exact their revenge.

 

Just like he knew that the girl who had died had been shot a scant half a minute before he'd killed the first shooter.

 

All those people saved. But he failed a girl, a girl who liked clarinet and soccer and who had been hoping to go into teaching after university.

 

As if reading his mind, the boy he was speaking to said, “ _My name is Kai. Kai Anders. My friend Billy said you normally ask. And I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to my play next Wednesday._ ”

 

“What?”

 

“ _My school play. We're doing The Producers, and I'm Roger, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come. I'll probably suck. With this hole in my shoulder, I can't do the dance properly. But the guy who's playing Franz got hit in the leg, so we're probably evenly matched. The performance is at six, so don't be late. Your ticket will be under my name._ ” And with that final tone, which bridged no argument, Kai hung up.

 

Jason held his phone to his ear for a minute more, stunned. Then he started laughing, loud, hysteric chortles.

 

On Wednesday, he pulled on a red wig and a fake goatee. For the evening, his eyes were brown. At the door, he was given his ticket by a girl who gave him a knowing glance.

 

The play was about as good as any high school rendition of any musical. The songs were mostly on key, the dancing was well choreographed and mostly well executed. The humor was dry and incredibly insulting and just what Jason needed.

 

He slipped out just as the cast was taking their bow.

 


	6. Gang Related and Turkey Roasters

Angus Greene knew he was in trouble.

 

He'd known for a long time. Ever since the Sixies had gone from “just a bunch of dudes hanging out on street corners looking intimidating and slamming back booze” to “actually committing crimes”, he'd known. But, of course, it was way too late by that point.

 

It had started when they'd gotten a new boss. Some guy from Gotham who had been smoked out by the Bat and decided that Bludhaven was a softer target. He'd walked right up to the previous head of the Sixies and blown his brains out. Then, he'd started changing things.

 

Before, the Sixies were just a group who would run to your aid if you asked. Your sister's boyfriend was a twat? No better way to scare him off than to confront him with twenty guys armed with bike chains and baseball bats. Afterwards, they would laugh and knock back a beer and chill. Sometimes, they'd get into fist fights, just to see who would win. Kind of like a slightly more violent after school club.

 

Ever since the new guy though, ever since Rufus Thorn, things had gotten scary. There were new members, bloodthirsty members. Regular activities included smashing up liquor stores, threatening people Angus had known , lived around, for his entire life. Of the twenty guys that had been in the original gang, four were dead, seven were in traction, three were busy being scapegoats in jail, and the last six were too scared to do anything.

 

Angus was one of those six.

 

He'd joined when he was thirteen. His cousin Brett was in the gang and since Brett was the coolest guy in the world, it had been such a great idea at the time.

 

But he had to leave, before he did anything too bad. Rufus had started something of a tithe, forcing non-favoured members to pay money each week. More money than his part time job at the flower shop payed him. He had a bunch saved up, for college, but he was going through that faster than he was adding to it. Pretty soon, he would have no choice but to rob a mom and pop store.

 

Four months ago, he never would have thought he would ever have to use this. “For emergencies” the girl who had given it to him had said. He'd scoffed. What sort of problem could he have that would require a mask to fix it for him? Nah, he could handle himself. Always had, always would. But he'd kept the number, for no other reason than it was just really cool to have a personal line to the Red Hood himself.

 

In hindsight, his best decision ever.

 

Even with all of that, he probably would have tried to work it out himself. He'd had four good years in his gang and just enough of a shred of loyalty to not rat them out.

 

But Brett was dead. He'd tried to leave and gotten killed for it.

 

So here he was, in his bedroom with his cell pressed against his ear like a lifeline. Red Hood picked up after the first ring. _“You dying?_ ” The voice was a bit slurred.

 

Of all the greetings, this had been the exact last one he had expected. “Um... no?”

 

“ _Then why on Earth would you call me at noon?_ ”

 

Angus slapped himself on the forehead. Right! Red Hood was a nighttime vigilante. And Angus, in all his infinite wisdom, had probably woken him up. “I am so sorry, I wasn't thinking and I've been debating with myself over whether to make this call for a week and a half now and-”

 

“ _Shut up._ ” There was a yawn, and what sounded like Red Hood drinking something. In a much clearer voice, he asked, “ _So, how can I help?_ ”

 

“Right. Um.” He'd had a speech planned out, but he couldn't remember a word of it right now. But he'd talked to people who had talked to the Red Hood, and he normally asked for their name. He should probably start with that. “My name is Angus. Angus Greene. And I need to get out of my gang but they'll kill me if I try.”

 

A door opened as Red Hood made a _hnn_ sound. “ _Right. Which gang?_ ”

 

“The Sixies.”

 

“ _Right. I've heard of them. Weren't even on my radar until a month and a half ago. So you want out? I can do that. You'll be free by tomorrow._ ”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Tomorrow. By tomorrow, most of your gang will either be dead or in jail. Depends on what their rap sheets are like. Good thing you woke me up early, because this is going to take a bit more research._ ”

 

“But...” Weeks of agonizing over what to do about his situation, contemplating turning his gang in himself but knowing that if even one of them escaped the police he was a dead man. Weeks of fearing for his life. Weeks of believing that he would have to resort to theft and threats to survive. And Red Hood would finish it in a day?

 

As if reading his mind, Red Hood said, “ _Trust me. I've been knocking over gangs for years. I already have most of what I need to take out the Sixies. Do you have a location where I can find them?_ ”

 

“Yeah.” Still reeling, he dug around in his backpack, pulling out the paper where he'd copied down what Rufus had said. “There's a meeting tonight at midnight. The factory on Twelfth.”

 

There was a low whistle. “ _Your boss is an idiot. That's the perfect place for me to stage an ambush. Right. Tell whoever you think deserves it to skip tonight's meeting. I'll call you when it's done._ ” There was a click, and silence on the other end.

 

Angus sat there, for at least five minutes, listening to the empty dial tone. It would be over. He could go back to his life. School, his job at the flower shop. Everything.

 

But first, he had some work. Pulling his phone from his ear, he typed in Allie's number. One of the few remaining original members. As soon as she answered, he spouted off some lie about how the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow. It wasn't unusual. Sometimes, Rufus didn't feel like heading a meeting, so he had Angus call everyone. And it was always Angus because he was the only one with unlimited minutes.

 

He called all of the original Sixies. None of the new members were “good people” in any sense of the phrase. Still, Angus felt a touch of guilt for the people who would probably die today.

 

But, in the end, he had been raised in Bludhaven. Protect your own. Other people's messes are none of your business. Any day you walk away alive and with a whole skin is a good day. Little things he'd learned since childhood.

 

And yet, twelve hours later, he still found himself at the factory on Twelfth, peeking through the window. And completely forgot his guilt. Red Hood wasn't using his guns and fought like a whirlwind. Actually, his fighting style seemed similar...

 

Because he'd seen it before. Not as refined, obviously, but he had. In abandoned warehouses and alleyways and parks. On the news a few years ago. Wherever the Sixies decided to get together, have a fight and a beer. Red Hood didn't shy away from the dirty hits. Punches to throats, collarbones, kicks to the groin. Ribs, elbows and feet were broken. One person pulled a gun. Another person was grabbed and used as a shield. Bones snapped like twigs and at the end of the fight, twenty five guys were writhing on the ground in agony while Red Hood stood unscathed. Four were dead.

 

Angus retreated a block to wait. Red Hood exited the factory, phone next to his ear. When he heard Angus's phone, he snapped his own shut and started towards the teen, pulling off his helmet as he went.

 

Angus raised an eyebrow at how normal he looked. He'd honestly been expecting some old, grizzled war veteran type dude, the kind who had seen too much of humanity to allow crime to continue. But it was just a guy, maybe a year or two older than Angus himself. If it wasn't for the bit of white in his otherwise black hair and the domino mask over his eyes, Red could have been any dude at Angus's school.

 

“Hey. Angus, right?” With a bit of a smile, Red gestured for Angus to follow him. “Come on. I just texted the cops and we really don't want to be here when they show.”

 

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Sirens grew louder and louder, eventually quieting down while the cops slapped cuffs on the gang members' wrists. Finally, Angus worked up the courage to ask something that had been bothering him ever since he'd placed the phone call. “Why did you believe me? It could have been a trap.”

 

“Oh, of course it could have been.” Red gave him a lopsided grin. “I was prepared for that. If there had been fifty cops waiting for me, then nothing would have changed. There would be a bunch of guys, laying on the floor in pain. Just wearing different clothing.”

 

“And if it had been some meta crime boss?”

 

Red gave a quick laugh. “I've fought my share of metas Angus. I would have figured something out.”

 

Angus nodded. They walked in silence for another few minutes, then Red asked, “So, what's next for you?”

 

That got him a raised eyebrow. Angus knew how this worked. The heroes saved the day, put the civilians on their feet, then raced off to the next big crisis. They didn't ask personal questions. “Life I guess. School, job, friends.”

 

“Good.” Red stopped, and Angus turned to him. “Make sure you call me if you need anything. Even if it's just advice or someone to talk to. Trust me, I'm used to it. My phone goes off all the time.” And in the uncanny timing the universe has, Red's phone rang. Giving him a look that screamed “See?”, even under a mask, Red answered. “Red Hood Bakery, where the justice is almost as sweet as the pastries. How can I take your order?”

 

While he spoke, he gave Angus a questioning look. With a smile, Angus waved him off. He would be fine now. Red nodded. “Your cat is stuck in a tree? Come on man, I had stuff to do today. Fine, but you'd better have snacks when I get there. I am not getting my fingers clawed off for anything less than a dozen cream puffs.” And with that wonderful closing sentence, Red pulled on his helmet and pulled a gun, different from the others. A grapple gun, Angus found out a moment later.

 

He started down the street to his house. It was past two when he got home, which wasn't good. He had a Chemistry paper due in the morning. But despite the looming deadline, he felt lighter than he had in a month and a half.

 

With a grateful sigh, he picked up his pencil and started working.

 

* * *

 

Almost there. Just one more step towards the window. So close.

 

Red Hood was, as he usually was when he wasn't getting interrupted by children calling him at all hours of the day, about to give some righteous karma to a deserving scumbag. One who was very stubbornly not walking into his sniper rifle sights. Maybe he should move...

 

This particular drug dealer was Alexander Brooke. He was the kind of person who decided that instead of selling to adults who knew what they were getting into, he would sell to kids. Worse, he was telling them it was candy, so even the kids who knew to stay away from drugs got hooked. And after more than two weeks of searching, Red Hood had finally found him.

 

Just as Brooke entered his sights, his phone went off. Really, with how things had been going, he should have expected it. As it was, he jumped and the shot went wide. Immediately, Brooke's hired muscle grabbed him and took him to a panic room. A panic room which, according to Red Hood's surprisingly extensive information, had enough supplies in it to last a month.

 

So he may have been a bit irritable when he answered his phone. “What?”

 

“ _Red... Emergency._ ” The voice on the other end was exaggeratedly strained. And he could almost hear giggles in the background. What? “ _Bludhaven Prep... room 506... hurry._ ”

 

With a sigh, Red Hood packed up his rifle. He'd have to finish this later. In a month apparently. Oh well. He could always target Brooke's supply warehouses in the meantime. Maybe it would draw him out.

 

Bludhaven Prep was just a fancy name for kids with less than present parents. The kids here normally had both mom and pop in jail, no other relatives, and had records too clean to throw into juvie. It was government sponsored, but sent the kids out on internships for extra cash. If they weren't working or at school, the place was basically a prison. No extracurriculars, eight o'clock bedtime, guards patrolling at nights. Complacent guards. Seriously, if Wonder Woman strolled in here wearing neon, they wouldn't notice.

 

It wasn't Red Hood's first time here. Two months ago, one of the students called to report a creepy teacher. A teacher with a history of pedophilia. Suffice to say, the man was slightly less of a man now.

 

Room 506 was the Bio Lab. And not on the fifth floor, despite the name. It was on the third floor, right next to a fairly large oak tree, which Red Hood scaled and used to get in through one of the windows.

 

There was a small group of kids, all facing the door. Two he recognized. Cathy Mennows had made the call, at the urging of her best friend Spencer Graves. Both were fifteen. The rest of the group ranged from eleven to seventeen, and looked excited as anything.

 

He stood by the window for a few minutes, waiting for them to notice him. Finally, he pulled off his helmet. “What's the emergency?”

 

All six kids jumped and he responded with a grin of pure mischievousness. Cathy recovered first. “Red! You're here!”

 

The eleven year old, a girl, laughed. “The emergency is that I learned last week that it's Thanksgiving in Canada! And since getting a turkey up here is impossible in November, we're having t today!” Together with the girl who looked about thirteen, they went to a cupboard and pulled out a roasting pan. They dropped it on the counter between a beaker and a hot plate and lifted the lid.

 

Jason's jaw may have dropped. Just a little. Inside the roasting pan was a small turkey, golden brown and smelling like heaven. There were roasted potatoes and carrots surrounding it. From the same cupboard, the kids pulled out stuffing, gravy, plates and cutlery, and a large salad. How had they managed this?

 

Laughing at Jason's speechlessness, Spencer explained. “We cooked the turkey after supper hour in the kitchen oven, so it might be a bit cold. But the gravy was made on the hot plate, so it's basically lava at this point. It'll warm the turkey up.”

 

A seventeen year old boy nodded. “Took us two months of hording our pennies to get this. And then Maggie snuck out and bought everything.”

 

Maggie looked about sixteen. “Yup! Those guards are ridiculously easy to sneak past.” That was true enough. “Now come on Red, let's eat!”

 

Still a bit speechless, Jason pulled a stool out from under the counter and sat. The seventeen year old boy, his name was Alvin apparently, carved the turkey. The eleven year old named Vicky demanded to be given a job, so she spooned an even amount of vegetables onto everyone's plate. Lucia, the thirteen year old, brandished her salad tongs with a vengeance. Even the veggie hating sixteen year old Maureen didn't argue with her.

 

The food was surprisingly delicious. Spencer wanted to be a chef when he got out of Bludhaven Prep, and Jason knew he would have no trouble with it. Not with these skills. Conversation flowed, and eventually, he joined in. He wasn't really used to a happy Thanksgiving. None in the streets after all. And either Calendar Man or Joker tended to spoil all the holidays in Gotham. But this was nice. Really nice.

 

Hours later, the turkey sitting in the roasting pan as bones, there was a lull in the conversation. So Jason asked, “Why did you invite me here?”

 

Maureen considered. “Thanksgiving is a time for family and friends, right?” The rest of the table made noises of affirmation. “So why wouldn't we invite you?”

 

“Not just that, but...” Cathy fidgeted, then looked him square in the domino mask. “We're thankful. So, so thankful that you're here, in this city, doing what you do. Thank you Red.” The rest of the table echoed her sentiments.

 

Stunned yet again, Jason smiled. “You're welcome.”

 

And for the first time, in a long time, he was thankful too. Thankful he had come back.

 


	7. Nothing Permanent and Sleeper & Wake Up Call

He dived willingly into the next one.

 

Really, he shouldn't have gotten involved. It wasn't his business. But... Ever since giving Tara his number, all these people, all these kids, had started relying on him. Which was ridiculous. He was the last person anyone should rely on. Ever. And still, he felt a bit of responsibility because of it.

 

So, when he heard a kid screaming at another, pushing him into a wall, he jumped off his building, landing four feet away in the most casual way someone could land on a dumpster. “What's going on here?”

 

The bully, a girl around twelve, and half a foot taller than most girls her age, looked _very_ scared for a minute. Then her face contorted in anger. “What's it to you?”

 

“Hm?” He pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair. “Not much actually. But I'm trying to patrol and your shouting is scaring off all the crooks.”

 

She sniffed at him, then turned back to her victim. “Fine. Just take off. We'll be quieter.”

 

Her hand flashed out, ready to slam into the eleven year old boy's face. About two inches from its mark, it landed in Jason's fist instead. “And yet, this looks like a clear cut case of assault to me.” Looking between the two kids, he snorted. “What did this guy even do to you? Look at him! He's about as threatening as a pillowcase.”

 

Ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from the boy, Jason took a good look at the girl. She flinched when he grabbed her fist. Flinched, and the scared look came back. No, not scared. Terrified. It was gone seconds later with a growl and a scowl. “What did he do? Every day, he walks through the hallways, crying about how much his life sucks! He doesn't know, with his _perfect_ family and _lovely_ house.”

 

“My uncle just died!”

 

The girl made some reply that Jason didn't really listen to. All of this was pretty familiar. Not the bullying. But the reactions. The fear, hidden by bravado, or anger. Lashing out. Curious, he shifted his grip on the girl's fist until he was holding her wrist. Then he grabbed her shirt sleeve and, before she could protest, pulled it up.

 

Bruises. All along her arm, and in the exact shape of fingers. One or two cigarette burns. The boy gasped, and the girl tried to pull her arm out of Jason's grip. Carefully, _carefully_ hiding his anger – it would only scare her off, or _scare_ her – he knelt down in front of her, transferring his grip to her shoulders. Gently though, almost no pressure. “What's your name?”

 

He watched as she tightened her lips and refused to speak. Finally, the boy spoke. “Mary-Ann Walters. And I'm Wayne Johnson.” Wayne was being surprisingly helpful, despite being this girl's punching bag a minute ago.

 

“Right then. Mary-Ann, who did this to you?” She didn't answer. “Mary-Ann, was it someone you know?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Mary-Ann, was it a family member?”

 

She wasn't looking at him anymore. Just tugged down her shirt sleeve and mumbled something about “he doesn't mean it” and “things have been tough at work”.

 

“Mary-Ann,” and something in his tone pulled her eyes towards his masked ones, “was it your father?”

 

But she shook her head. “Dad's dead. My older brother takes care of me.”

 

Slowly, he removed his hands from her shoulders, pulling up her shirt sleeve again. “Mary-Ann, this is _not_ 'taking care'. This is abuse. This is _wrong_.” He stood up, pulled two number cards from his belt and handed one to each of the kids. “I'm going to take care of it. If he does this again, I don't care the reason, call me.”

 

He had his helmet halfway to his face when Mary-Ann grabbed his arm. “Don't hurt him. Please?”

 

He stopped, and contemplated her. The girl this scum had abused. The girl who hadn't understood _why_ this was happening to her, because what child _would_ , and so had mirrored her brother. Projected her hurt and pain in the only way she knew onto a boy who was less unfortunate than her. “Nothing permanent. That's all I can promise.”

 

She continued looking up at him, with trust in her eyes. With a nod, she let him go.

 

He found the Walters' residence easily enough. Mark Walters worked for the local canning plant, which was in the midst of shutting down. The man had taken the stress of his imminent joblessness out on his sister, ten years his junior.

 

Twenty minutes after leaving the Walters' residence, older brother Mark's cries for mercy and promises to never hurt his sister again still ringing in his ears – nothing permanent, as he had promised – he was still seriously confused.

 

Mary-Ann had _trusted_ him. Trusted a known criminal, a guy who shoots people in the head in his spare time, to not kill her brother. How could she?

 

And she wasn't the first. He'd jumped in on _so_ many problems and increasingly, the kids relaxed the moment they saw him. They saw him and _immediately_ smiled, like everything would be okay now.

 

He'd seen it before. When people saw Batman and Robin. But Batman and Robin were... they were _Batman and Robin_! Of _course_ everything would be okay when they showed up!

 

Nothing was okay when Red Hood showed up.

 

But clearly, the kids disagreed.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen year old Penny Sands called him because her brother got kidnapped. Her family had just won the lottery, and they were moving to another city in a week, to start fresh somewhere else. But a down on his luck neighbour had seen the opportunity and snatched little Brent when he'd been playing. The ransom was the exact amount of money they'd won.

 

Money they didn't have anymore. They had spent it buying their house outright, and now had less than half left. There wasn't time to sell the house, so Penny had called Red Hood.

 

And so here he was, at an abandoned apartment building. Tracing the call had been ridiculously easy. The cops hadn't even been trying. With a sigh, he shouldered open the door. Penny had asked him to please not kill the man, one Abe Jackson, because he was actually really nice Mister Hood, he just wasn't as lucky as they were.

 

The guy was clearly off his rocker though. He was muttering to himself as he circled the chair Brent was tied to, waving his gun in large circles. “You don't understand, you don't _get_ it, the mob, they take everything you have and more and suddenly they _own_ you.”

 

The kid, only eight years old, looked terrified out of his mind. But, strangely, once he caught sight of the vigilante standing in the doorway, he relaxed.

 

Jackson caught sight of him and immediately the gun came up. Pointed at Red Hood, thankfully, not the kid. “Who are you?”

 

This guy had to be the only man in Bludhaven who hadn't heard of him. “No no, don't let me interrupt you. Seriously, go on. I believe you were on the part where you gambled away all your savings and ended up with mob debt collectors breathing down your neck.” Nonchalantly, he started forward. The barrel of the gun facing him was quivering. “Please continue your story about how you screwed up your own life, and so have this _pressing_ urge to ruin someone else's.”

 

He might have had some pity for the man. But he had asked for _all_ of the Sands' family's lottery winnings. His debt, while massive, was well within the money that they had left. This hostage situation could have come and gone and Red Hood wouldn't have needed to get involved. The family wouldn't be worried out of their minds, trying to find a way to sell their dream house in less than twenty four hours. The kid would have been returned, scared, but alright.

 

But no. The man had gotten greedy. He'd wanted it all. And so here stood Red Hood, involved, and standing a foot away from the gun pointed at his head. “You have the safety on.”

 

The man tilted the gun to look, and Red Hood disarmed him, throwing out a palm strike that shattered Jackson's jaw. “If Penny hadn't asked me not to, I would shoot you in the head where you lay you complete scumbag.” A kick to the head rendered the man unconscious.

 

Jason handcuffed him, then pulled off his helmet and ran towards the chair. “Hey. Brent, right? Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?”

 

Gag off, hands untied, Brent threw his arms around Jason's neck. “Thank you. I'm fine. Just...” A sharp intake of breath finished that sentence.

 

“Yeah. I know. Now come on, I have to finish tying this scumbag up, and then we can get you home.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Abe Jackson was hanging upside down from a flag pole and Penny was hugging her little brother with all her might. Jason wasn't paying attention, and only barely got his hand up in time to block his face from the selfie she took of the three of them.

 

“Nice! This one is going right up on the website!” She crowed, looking at the picture. She was making a peace sign, Brent was giving her bunny ears, and the only part of Jason's face that was visible was his hair, white streak and all.

 

A drop of dread hit him. “What website?”

 

Penny snorted. “ _The_ website. One of the kids made it. And don't worry, he's a computer genius, so it's almost unhackable.” She tapped for a moment on her smart phone, then showed him the site.

 

The domain name was RedKids.com, and the main page was a picture of a sports team in red jerseys playing soccer. The only other thing on the page was a password bar. “See? This way, it just looks like a soccer team website, instead of a place where the kids talk about their encounters with you. The password is your phone number.” A few more quick taps and she showed him again. It was the picture she had taken of him, posted and already collecting likes.

 

He groaned. “And I'm guessing it's way too late to get this taken down?” The picture, the website, either. Both would be nice.

 

Brent snorted. For a kid who had just gotten kidnapped, he had recovered really well. “Duh. Hey Penny, what's your new username going to be? I'm gonna be Sleeper!”

 

“Nice. I'll be WakeUpCall.” She glanced up and chuckled at Jason's confused expression. “The admins said that if we met you in person, then we could change our usernames to fit.” She sighed. “I guess we have to go now. Mom and Dad are still tearing their hair out. Thanks for saving my brother Red. And thanks for not killing Mister Jackson. He's been having difficulties ever since his wife died.”

 

Taking her brother's hand, they crossed the street to their apartment building, giving him a quick wave before they disappeared inside.

 

That morning, after patrol, he went online. And sure enough, the posts kept flooding in. Red Hood sightings, theories on where he would strike next, and favourite parts of their conversations with him. They were planning real life meet ups, and exchanging recipes on how to make cookies with only four ingredients. One kid suggested oatmeal as a meal because it was cheap to buy, ready in minutes, filling, and it went really well with so many other things, which started up an oatmeal recipe thread. A few weeks ago, a kid had been contemplating suicide, asking if he or she should call Red Hood or not. But the other kids on the site had talked the kid out of it.

 

And the usernames. Lincoln. AlleyRat. PantryGirl. Wedding_Bears. Bio-Toxic. SeventeenOranges. ARose. Neverland. LostAtLex's. One_Good_Day. And so many more.

 

 _Way_ more than a little overwhelmed, Jason closed his laptop and went to bed. He didn't think he could handle this.

 

He didn't explore the site far enough to get to the most active board. The Red Hood Theories board. The one where the kids over-analyzed snippets of conversations they'd had with him. The one where they decided he was from the streets, he'd been hurt really, _really_ bad and he wasn't over it. Most of them agreed that he was really mad at Batman.

 

Bio-Toxic posted an anecdote from when she had lived in Gotham, about the little Robin who comforted her. Gang-Related talked about how that Robin had fought like a street kid, and how he'd spent hours watching news footage, trying to copy his moves. ReportCars said that Red Hood fought like a street kid.

 

And the conversation continued, theories flying this way and that. But Jason was asleep, and when he woke up, he decided to leave the kids to their internet. He had mob bosses to snipe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the source of all the chapter titles. Hooray!


	8. Lady Prada and HallowRed & HoodWeen

A woman shrieked. “My purse! Someone get that kid! She stole my purse!”

 

A purse snatching. There was one every other night in Bludhaven, and not something Red Hood normally gave notice to. Not that it wasn't important, or a crime, but between the almost incessant phone calls and trying to get his own work done, he didn't really have time to drop down, catch the thief, then track down whichever distraught woman lost her imitation-Prada bag. Plus, the victim was almost always surrounded by police officers, getting her statement taken and crying about her little puppy keychain that was forever lost now.

 

But, by some stroke of luck, the thief ran right towards the building Red Hood was standing on. Since he needed to get to the ground anyways, he jumped off the edge, using the fire escape to slow his fall, and landed solidly in the thief's path.

 

The thief who couldn't be much older than sixteen. Cops and concerned citizens were already appearing at the mouth of the alley they were standing in, so Red Hood sighed and grabbed the kid. They grappled away, the purse sliding from the surprised would-be-thief's fingers.

 

Once they were safely on a rooftop three blocks away, the girl snarled, “What was that for? I needed that bag!”

 

“What, and that lady didn't?” Pulling off his helmet, Jason looked the girl dead in the eye.

 

And was not at all prepared for the reaction he got. “Wow.” The girl blushed furiously and looked down. “N-no, what I mean is...” Furiously backtracking, she made the mistake of looking up again. The next word was barely a whisper. “Wow.” There was another moment of confused silence where Jason wondered if she was alright in the head and she looked at him with the weirdest expression. Then, she shook her head, argued with herself for a moment (“yes, he's damn hot, but he also took away your next meal ticket so get your head in the game Addy”), then she turned back to him with an angry look in her eyes (though not as angry as before he'd taken his helmet off). “You didn't see her Red. Her _shoes_ could have paid for food for two weeks, and she was walking them through puddles like they were nothing! She didn't deserve that purse!”

 

Still reeling a bit from her reaction (he'd seen girls react like that to Nightwing, but never to _him_ ), Jason cleared his throat. “Doesn't make it any less wrong to take it.”

 

She scoffed. “Right. And shooting criminals in the skull is right.”

 

“Hey, what I do in my spare time is none of your business!” That got him an eye roll. “Trust me on this one, a criminal record will do more harm than good in the long run.” His own criminal record had, before he died of course, prevented him from entering half the schools in Gotham, barred him access to Canada at least once, and made ninety percent of Bruce's rich “friends” talk badly about him when Bruce wasn't around. If he had lived to college age, he probably would have had even more trouble.

 

“And what about you? You're what,” she looked him up and down, blushing again. Jason was seriously starting to feel self-conscious. “Nineteen? Twenty? You have your whole life ahead of you too!”

 

“Around there.” He wasn't sure exactly. Oh, he knew when his birthday was. But he didn't know how long he had been dead and wasn't entirely sure if that counted. “And that's different. What I do _is_ my life.”

 

She scoffed. “Yeah, well, mine will be over if I don't get some food money.”

 

“There's more legitimate ways to get money.”

 

“Yeah, well, I've tried. No one will hire me.” She sniffed, but whether it was from the cold or from emotion, Jason couldn't tell. “Trust me, I know it's wrong to steal. And I have tried _everything_ else. I have nothing left but my pride, and I'm not giving that up.”

 

Letting out a monumental sigh, Jason thought for a few minutes. “What's your name?”

 

“Not that it's any of your business, but it's Addy.”

 

“Right.” He spent another moment telling himself this was a terrible idea. Then he reached into his belt. “Tell you what. I'm running out of a few things in my base. And I really don't have time to get them tomorrow.” He normally used this note pad to write down addresses and target names, but it would work for a grocery list too. “Bring this stuff to the address on the paper by four tomorrow afternoon. I'll have a job for you by then.” He handed over the list and a small pile of cash. Enough to buy what he needed, as well as four or so meals. “If you skip out, I will postpone my next week of scheduled patrols to hunt you down.” He wouldn't, but she didn't need to know that.

 

“Anything you say sexy.” At the absent minded comment, Jason felt his face heat up. Luckily, he had his helmet on by the time Addy looked up from the list. “So, are you going to carry me off of this roof now?”

 

His face rivalled his helmet in colour now, he just knew it. Without a word, he grabbed her waist and shot off his grapple, gently lowering them to the ground. He made sure to keep his arm away from anything... _anything_. Once she was down, he grappled off with a hurried, “See you later.”

 

The rest of his night was, thankfully, a normal night. He intimidated a gang into semi-decent behaviour and had them pay him protection money. Protection from him, so he didn't go disable them all for the ten businesses they'd burned in the last few months. He took out one or two high ranking mob bosses, blaming it on the rival gang. He'd also set it up so the cops hadn't gotten their usual stipend from those two mobs in the past month. The thugs would start a gang war in a week, during which Red Hood could shoot with impunity and the cops would get off their useless butts and do some actual arrests. That would take out all of the members in one fell swoop.

 

Around seven the next morning, he dropped, yawning, into his bed. But he couldn't go to sleep yet. So, he called up Kai. “ _Red?_ ”

 

“Hey Kai. How's your shoulder?”

 

“ _Um, fine, I guess. Did you need something?_ ”

 

“Ha. You guessed it kid. Does your dad's cake shop still need a cashier?”

 

At four o'clock exactly, Addy walked into the storage unit and dropped off Jason's supplies for the next month or so. He watched as she picked up her substantial payment for that job and the note he had left, giving her another address. He watched as she closed the unit, and walked to the cake shop, a little place on the slightly more decent part of town called Crumbs. And he watched as she walked out with a uniform in her hand and a smile on her face.

 

Adjusting his sunglasses and hat, he gave his own little grin and walked away.

 

 

Halloween. Really, what with costumed heroes running around on a daily basis, it should have lost what made it special. If someone could dress like that on a daily basis, was there really need for a holiday for it?

 

And yet, children were relentless. So on one day a year, they dressed as ghosts and vampires and Pokemon and, yes, their favourite superheroes.

 

Red Hood sat on a rooftop, as per usual, waiting. For the next hour or so, the gang he was going to knock over was in a meeting. He was going to wait until the end, when they got all their plans in order and got comfortable. Of course, once they left the meeting, they'd be on edge again. He'd have to pick his moment.

 

But for now, he was going to enjoy the sight of small children running around with their pillowcases and buckets hoping for snacks and the not-so-small adults glaring bloody murder at anyone who looked at their kids. Since this was Bludhaven, more than one parent had either called in favours or hired a local thug to stand watch. Which meant that most groups of children were followed by hulking masses of muscle dressed as puppies so they could trick or treat safely.

 

There was a tiny Wonder Woman and her costume was spot on. The Flash's ponytails bounced on the side of her neck when she ran from house to house. Green Arrow's little bow was clearly a prop from Valentine's Day painted green, and some kid had decided to brave the weather and go as Martian Manhunter, chest bare except for the crossed belts and green body paint. There was even a Captain Cold mixed in, although that kid was probably sweating under his coat. Red Hood had to hold back a snort of laughter at the slutty Superman who was clearly drunk and heading for another house party.

 

The more creative kids had mixed costumes. The vampire Batman in particular stood out, but there was a really good ghost Katana that Red Hood enjoyed. Some kid had gone as both Booster Gold and Blue Beetle, wing poking out behind a high yellow collar.

 

But enough of the festivities. Red Hood had places to be and people to shoot. It was time.

 

He pulled his grapple and was just about to shoot it off when a flash of red caught his eye. Two kids, no older than seven, were dressed as the Red Hood.

 

That stopped him cold. Curious, he started following them, going from door to door. Their costumes were pretty good, if a little thrown together. The “helmets” were just red face masks, and the leather jackets were brown winter coats. Looking down at his own attire, he thought it was a good thing his dressed simply. Jeans and a t shirt over his body armor.

 

After a while, a pattern started to emerge. The kids would go to the house, and shout as joyfully as any other kid tonight. Some houses treated them as any other kid, filling their pillowcases with chocolate and candy. But most houses slammed the door in their faces, decrying that their costumes were “in poor taste”.

 

Jason watched this sadly. He was pretty sure that if these kids had been in another city, people would have gushed over their costume, like they did over the Captain Cold. But the kids didn't let that get them down. They dutifully walked to every house, up and down the streets happily.

 

Well. He couldn't let this stand.

 

Wadding up his jacket, he stuffed it and his domino inside his helmet. He activated the security on both it and his belt and dropped the lot on the rooftop. Then he scaled the fire escape.

 

There was a store at the corner, and all of the Halloween-sized candy was gone. That was fine. He went straight for the big stuff. King sized chocolate. Bags of candy hanging off of pegs. A few family sized bags of chips. And a large bowl. The clerk gave him a weird look as he checked out, but he paid in cash and left without taking his change.

 

It was more than a bit difficult to go back up the building carrying thirty pounds of candy, but he managed. Jacket and belt back on, but he left the helmet off.

 

It was a few months too early for Santa, but that's kind of what he felt like as he dropped down next to the house the kids were at currently. The kids jumped a bit when his voice called out from the alley, “Love your costumes.”

 

The kids jumped, then took a good look at him. Since it was Bludhaven, they should have run screaming at the strange man talking to them. But in the style of children and cosplayers, all they saw was someone in the same costume as them. “Thanks Mister! Yours is pretty good too.” He couldn't see their faces, but this voice was male.

 

Jason laughed. “Isn't going to a party wearing the same clothes considered tacky?”

 

The other Red Hood spoke up. A girl this time. “Totally! I called it first, and Mommy told me that a princess costume would be better, and Teddy already had most of his costume.”

 

Teddy – her brother, probably – snickered. “She took her allowance and bought her own jacket. When Mom saw she was serious, she made Kaylee a hood too.”

 

“I even got my allowance back!” Kaylee looked so proud of the fact.

 

He laughed again, then sobered. “I noticed that not many houses are very nice to you.”

 

“No, but that's ok. Red Hood scares them, so if we scare them, then that means our costumes are awesome!” Kaylee grinned.

 

Teddy agreed. “Yeah! Halloween is supposed to be scary! This means we win!”

 

Ah, the logic of children. “You definitely did. And here's first prize.” HE turned back for the candy he'd bought, suddenly nervous. Most parents told their kids not to take candy from strangers, right? What was stranger than a man in a dark alley wearing a mask?

 

Steeling himself, he grabbed the bowl and faced the children. “Whoa!” The kids exclaimed in unison, pulling off their masks to get a better look. “Is this all for us?”

 

“No, I'm just holding this for the next Superman that comes through. Yes, it's yours.”

 

The kids broke into twin grins and started grabbing at the candy. Balancing the bowl in one hand, Jason started helping, making sure that the kids got an even amount. He helped Teddy grab most of the Mars bars out, which was fine with Kaylee. She wanted the Skittles.

 

“Be careful on your way home. There's candy poachers out there.” Not that Jason would be leaving them defenseless.

 

“We'll be fine! Our house is right over there!” Kaylee pointed at the house across the street.

 

Teddy nodded, slinging his full-to-bursting sack of sugar over his shoulder. “Yup. Mr. Gunderson's was our last house.”

 

Jason smiled. “Good. You have a good night kids.” And with that, he pulled on his helmet and grappled up and away.

 

He sat on his rooftop, smiling as the kids freaked out. The Red Hood, the _actual_ Red Hood, had given them candy! The Red Hood had complimented their costumes!

 

It wasn't until later that he realized that he'd missed the meeting.

 

Oh well. He'd get them later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo all! I just wanted to remind everyone that this fic is actually complete. It's on [FanFiction](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11526869/1/Help) and [my tumblr](http://loxare.tumblr.com/post/155007943582/loxies-fics-masterpost). There's also a [sequel](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12336906/1/Harm) in the works if you want to add requests for that.
> 
> If you'd rather wait for it all to get onto AO3, that's cool. It'll all be up in a few days. Cheers!


	9. Saving Grace and Holding Hands

He was waiting on the roof of a beauty parlour, staring at the little coffee shop across the street. The little coffee shop that he was ninety percent sure was a front for the Triads.

 

There. Yun Guo. Third in command for the Bludhaven branch. Of course, she could just be going for coffee. But she could also be going for a secret meeting.

 

Not that he could do anything about this meeting. But later tonight, he could sneak in and bug the place. Then he could find out where they were keeping their latest drug shipments. After that, it would be one good bomb and the streets would be just that much cleaner.

 

Red Hood laughed a bit to himself. “Cleaner”. Right. Like clearing out a foot square space in a trash heap.

 

A hand on his back had him nearly jump out of his skin, his guns coming out and around on reflex. It was only a moment's hesitation on the triggers that saved the little girl's life. “Don't sneak up on me like that kid! Holy hell, I nearly killed you!”

 

“Sorry.” She didn't look sorry. “But I knew you wouldn't hurt me. That's what the website says anyways.”

 

Pulling off his helmet, he rubbed at his eyes. With the domino mask in the way, it didn't really give him the massaging effect he was looking for, but it was better than nothing. “Hate that website. Anyways. Did you need me for something?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“You know, most people call, right?”

 

“I don't have a phone.” She didn't have a phone, but she had access to the internet? “But the library gives me free internet if I have a card and I have a card.” That made sense.

 

“Right. So, what can I help you with?” And how quick would it be accomplished? The coffee shop was only closed for four hours of the day.

 

She sighed. In the moment of quiet that followed, Jason noted her age. Only nine years old, and she was climbing roofs to talk to strange men wielding guns. Whatever this was, it must be important. “Mommy and Daddy died last year.”

 

Jason shuffled closer to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, but I'm mostly alright now. But my sister, Ana, she had to take a few jobs to support us In the morning, she's a waitress, and she has a night job too. Like, you know, a _night_ job.”

 

He sighed. “Yeah kid. I know.” But she shouldn't.

 

She didn't seem fazed though. “Yup. And it was going pretty good. She has this purple scarf that she lets me borrow for dress up. We're eating, and she managed to get me a new doll last month. But last week we had an argument. It was stupid. I didn't take out the trash like I said I would and she got mad. We shouted and she hurt my feelings a bit, but I hurt hers worse. She went to work and I was supposed to be in bed, but I couldn't sleep, so I went to go apologize.”

 

She scooted a little closer to Jason, shivering. Without a second thought, he pulled off his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. She nodded her thanks, then continued, “I asked a few of the girls on the corners where I could find her. They always know lots of stuff, and they knew where she was. Corner of Green Line and Third. But when I got there...”

 

A sniffle escaped the so-far stoic child. “There was a man. A 'pimp', the other girls said. Ana's pimp. And he was yelling at her and telling her she was worthless and useless and hitting her a bunch. I got scared and ran home. I thought when she got home she would tell me she was hurt or something, but she didn't. She acted like she always did.” Another sniffle, and a quiver entered her voice. “What... what if that happens every night? What if she got yelled at and hit all the time and she didn't tell me? Why... why didn't she tell me she was hurt?”

 

Jason sighed and held the girl closer. “That's what older siblings do. They hide things so the younger ones don't have to worry about them. She was probably more worried about you getting a decent childhood than her own feelings.” The girl sniffled and Jason could tell she didn't understand. “Hey, what's your name?”

 

“Grace.”

 

“And what did you want me to do for you Grace?”

 

“I don't want my sister to get hurt anymore. I don't want any of the girls to get hurt anymore.”

 

That... was a tall order. “Right. I'll see what I can do. Can you get home from here?”

 

Grace nodded. “Yup. I live there.” She pointed at the apartment building next to the beauty parlour. It was a story taller, but Red Hood had decided against using that one for this stake out. Mainly because of all the pigeon wire on the roof. None of that was comfortable. “That's how I knew you were here. I saw you out my window.”

 

She stood up, and handed him back his jacket. He took it with a nod. “You head up there Grace. I'll take care of this. You get some sleep, alright?”

 

When she was gone, he took one last look at the coffee shop. That could wait until later. Helmet on, he jumped off of the roof and grappled to Green Line and Third.

 

It wasn't difficult for him to find Ana. She looked just like her sister, and the purple scarf was a dead giveaway. And just his luck, her pimp was just finishing what had to be a nightly ritual. Ana didn't look too badly hurt, and as much as Red Hood wanted to go to her, he had a pimp to follow.

 

The pimp went from working girl to working girl, giving them the same treatment as Ana. But he was an experienced pimp. His punches never landed anywhere that wasn't covered in clothing. No bruises on the face, that would ruin their value. No one wanted a bruised girl in their bed.

 

Finally, after more than two hours of trying not to shoot the guy in the skull, the pimp went home. Perfect.

 

One of the many things he had learned from Batman was how to intimidate. Of course, a very tall and heavily muscled man in a scary bat costume at night with a voice like he'd swallowed two or three gravel pits was intimidating by default. But every little bit helped.

 

The first step was location. Home was a safe place, a place to let down all your guards and know, somewhere deep inside, that nothing could happen to you here. Of course, many things could. Earthquakes, fires, break-ins, cockroaches. And costumed vigilantes.

 

The second step, was making sure they didn't expect it. So Red Hood broke into the pimp's house and waited. The pimp, Alejandro Moore according to the wallet he left on the counter, moved throughout his house confidently, meandering from kitchen for some supper to the bedroom. Red Hood waited for the light in the bed room to turn off, then another ten minutes after that.

 

The man wore silk pajamas. Silk pajamas while most of his employees barely survived. Red Hood grabbed Moore by the neckline of his very expensive silk night clothes without regard to how he was wrinkling the fabric and pulled the man, blinking his way out of the half sleep he'd managed in the ten minutes he's been allowed, so he was facing him. Or, more accurately, facing the emotionless, pitiless, blank canvas that was his blood red helmet.

 

The man's screams lasted right up until a knife pressed itself under his jaw. “Alejandro Moore.” Step three, know things about the victim that you shouldn't. “Wine connoisseur, divorced three times, and not by your choice.” These he had gleaned from his time in the house. Wedding photos featuring the scumbag with three different women in the desk, ripped in half but not thrown out. If Moore still had feelings for these women, they had broken up with him. “I guess no woman wants you. So you have to take it out on the ladies under your protection.”

 

“Did those cunts send you? I swear to God-” The knife dug in a little sharper, cutting the man off.

 

“What did you say? Those women are ladies. Ladies who deserve better than scum like you. But you're all they've got. So you're going to start doing a better job. You're going to protect these ladies. Protect them from customers who treat them poorly. You're going to treat them with dignity and care. You will never lay your hand on them in anger or malice again. Their well-being is to be your highest priority.”

 

“Oh yeah?” For a man who had been drooling on his pillow five minutes ago, he had a lot of bravado. “Or what?”

 

Behind his helmet, Red Hood smiled. His knife removed itself from Moore's neck and drifted lower. Lower. The sharp and very pointy tip of the blade came to a rest at the fork of the man's legs. Step four. Let the victim's imagination work against them.

 

With an air of carelessness, like the burden he had been keeping suspended half a foot off the ground was worth nothing, which was true, Red Hood dropped Moore. The man finally looked frightened. “I promise! I promise, anything but that!”

 

Red Hood walked to the bedroom door. He was halfway through when he turned around. “Make sure you keep that promise. Don't make me have to visit you again.” And with that, he vanished.

 

The entire side trip took about three hours, leaving him plenty of time to go to the coffee shop and plant his bugs.

 

He found Ana a job at Angus's flower shop. The pay was much better than her night job, and between that and waitressing in the afternoons, she was able to support herself and Grace with little trouble.

 

The entire experience got him thinking though. So, over the next few weeks, whenever he had a moment, he'd stop and talk to some of the ladies on the street. Ask them how their day was. If they were warm enough. It took them a while to start trusting him, but when they realized he didn't want anything from them, they opened up. Talked about their lives, their significant others, their children and friends and family. He learned that Tibby down the block always had a cup of something hot for half off after nine and that Alvin Brown always walked his dog at two in the morning and that Sugar always traveled twenty blocks so she could walk the corner opposite her best friend Tanya.

 

And less important to him personally, but more important to his work, he learned where all the pimps lived. And he extracted the same promise from every single one of them.

 

A few didn't keep their promises. But Red Hood was a man of his word, and even if he never vocalized the threat, he would stand by it. So he gave them one warning. The pimps were much more inclined to keep their words when there was only one royal jewel between their manhood and eunuch-dom.

 

None of the ladies got his phone number. None of them needed it. But if they wanted a willing ear to talk to, they just had to wait. Red Hood always showed up eventually.

 

* * *

 

The next phone call led him to the roof of a hospital.

 

The kid was already standing there, crossed arms resting on the railing. He didn't look away from the fairly spectacular view of the city at night when Red Hood landed next to him.

 

After a minute, Jason took off his helmet. And then they stood in silence. It stretched, Jason giving the kid, Manny Erikson all the time he needed.

 

Finally, a tear slid down Manny's cheek. “She's dying.”

 

“I know.” Manny had said in the phone call.

 

“I just... It's not fa-fair.” He was full on crying now. “We wor-ked so h-hard to get the money f-for her surger-ies and-” Letting out a shuddering breath, Manny gripped the railing like a lifeline. “It wasn't enough.”

 

“I know.” Reaching out, he draped an arm around the seventeen year old's shoulders. “Sometimes... sometimes you try your best, and no matter how hard you struggle or plead, it all ends up going wrong.”

 

“Wouldn't have done anything anyway. She was terminal the minute we found out. We were just delaying the inevitable.”

 

“Sure.” He paused. “Or maybe... maybe you bought time. Time to be with her.”

 

Manny scoffed.

 

“Of course, it's not enough. All of the time you could spend with her if she wasn't sick. But it's what you have, and you shouldn't waste it.”

 

“I know, but it hurts. Being in that room, it hurts. She was so full of life and joy and now she's got wires and tubes and it's so much effort just to smile and it hurts so bad.”

 

Jason nodded. He knew the feeling. “Hurts her worse though, doesn't it?” The silence from Manny screamed yes. “It would hurt a lot less if you held her hand.”

 

They stood in silence for another few minutes, until, “What should I do?”

 

“Be with her while you can. I know it sounds hokey, but cherish every second. And remember her when she's gone. Nothing hurts worse than being forgotten.”

 

Jason wasn't the best at comfort. He knew this. But, somehow, Manny took the words he needed from what Jason had said. He nodded and turned, heading for the roof access door. “Thanks Red.”

 

And Jason was left on the rooftop, remembering.

 


	10. Jewelry Store Stitches and Run In

Finally. Zain Boone was a slippery one. He'd given Red Hood the run around for almost two weeks now. But finally, the crime lord was pinned with brand new lead kneecaps and the barrel of a beautifully powerful handgun pressed to his forehead.

 

The man was pleading for mercy. They always did. Red Hood let a grin creep across his face, manic and victorious. His finger tightened on the trigger...

 

The familiar melody of his burner phone went off. Almost immediately, and definitely unconsciously, Red Hood straightened out of his predatory posture. The gun went away, the cell phone came out, and he turned from his victim. “One second, yeah? I have to take this.” Forwarding the call to his helmet, he answered, “Red Hood Catering. We have everything from knuckle sandwiches to lead appetizers. How can I help you today?”

 

“ _My friend got shot._ ” Hm. Blunt. He could appreciate that.

 

“Right then. I'd suggest a hospital, but then again, if that were an option, you wouldn't be calling me.” There was a sound of affirmation from the other end. “Thought so. Tell me where you are and I'll do what I can to patch him up.” The boy rattled off an address and he hung up. Turning back to Boone, he slumped apologetically. “Sorry, looks like I don't have time to shoot you in the skull and frame Garza.” Carleton Garza was the leader of a rival gang. Framing him would draw him and ninety percent of his gang out of the woodwork so Red Hood could drop them. “But it's fine. There's enough evidence in this room to put you away for quite a while! Goodnight!”

 

One pistol whip, unconscious crime lord and anonymous text to the cops later, and Red Hood was swinging across the rooftops. He made a quick stop at his apartment for his first aid kit (which contained more medical supplies than the average doctor's office), then headed off to find the kids.

 

He heard them before he saw them. They were on the bottom floor of an abandoned apartment building, and the boy was very loudly telling his friend just how much of an idiot she was, while she was telling him to mind his own damn business in a comparable, if pained, volume.

 

Sneaking up behind them was easy. Popping his hands over their mouths and watching them jump was fun. “Hush up kids. We've got work to do.”

 

And did they ever. The girl, around sixteen, had two holes in her left leg – one entry, one exit – and both were bleeding profusely. The boy, same age, had one hand on each injury and was obviously the reason she wasn't dead yet.

 

Helmet and gloves off. Throwing open his first aid kit, he first pulled out his disinfectant and a small bowl. Some disinfectant went into the bowl, followed by a pair of tweezers, a needle and a thread. Then, he pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and grabbed a scalpel. “Boy-o. What's your name?”

 

“Emmet Torosian.”

 

“Alright Emmet. I need you to get your hand off of the higher injury, and put it right here.” Jason gestured to the girl's right thigh. Thoroughly confused, Emmet obeyed nonetheless. “Good boy. What's your name?”

 

Between gasps of pain, the girl managed to answer, “Theodora. Theo Peyton.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” The scalpel cut away the leg of her jeans in one swift motion. Grabbing the needle from the bowl, he threaded it, holding the curved bit of metal in one hand and the disinfectant in the other. “Theo, this is going to hurt.” And he gave the injury a healthy dose of PVP Iodine. Theo screamed through her teeth and grabbed Emmet's hand from its inviting position on her thigh.

 

The boy started a bit at the tightness of her grip but didn't pull away. Instead he turned to Jason. “Really? You could outfit a free clinic with that kit, and you don't have a painkiller?”

 

Between steady stitches – needle in, grab with tweezers, pull thread through – Jason grimaced. “Nope. This kit wasn't supposed to be for anyone but me. And I don't believe in them.” He'd have to add some after this though. A lingering childhood trauma was no excuse for causing someone else pain. His current nightlife notwithstanding. “How did this happen anyways?”

 

Theo opened her mouth, but Emmet beat her to the punch. “She was robbing Alistar Jewelers. A security guard saw her and started taking pot shots.”

 

Jason gave out a low whistle. Alistar was the biggest jeweler in half the state. And with a target like that sitting on their backs, their security wasn't anything to tangle with. Nothing he or Catwoman couldn't handle, but the average teen had no chance. “You're lucky to be alive.”

 

Emmet let out a huff. “That's what I keep telling her!”

 

“What were you even doing in there to begin with?” The first one sewn up, Jason moved Emmet's other hand off of the exit wound. This one was a bit messier. It would take some time.

 

Theo muttered something. Emmet smacked her lightly on the shoulder. “Fine. I was looking for an anniversary present for my parents.”

 

“Yeah, after you broke the first one.” The words lacked bite though. Clearly, Emmet was out of his mind with worry for his friend.

 

Her fingers clenched down harder as Jason doused the second injury in disinfectant. Jaw clenched, she managed to grind out, “Yes. Fine! I broke the necklace Dad got for Mom. Happy?”

 

“No.” His fingers were starting to turn purple, but Emmet just stared at Theo sadly. “I'd be happy if you stopped pulling stupid stuff like this. Why didn't you tell me? We could have tried to fix it!”

 

She mumbled something along the lines of “didn't think of it at the time”, which Jason could relate with. Sometimes, the most radical solution seems like the best one. Oh well. Hindsight was 20/20 after all.

 

Before he could swoon from the sexual tension drifting between the two teens, he pulled the needle through one last pass. “Done!” He pulled bandages from his kit and started wrapping. “Stay off of this for at least a week. Keep it elevated. If you do have to get up, go slowly. No running, no jumping, no walking at a brisk pace. Once the bullet holes are healed, you can cut the stitches off and pull them out. Get someone to help with that. And once the stitches are out, you have to let those holes heal too.”

 

With a huff, he inspected his work. Definitely not as neat as Alfred's. “I'm not the best at this, so you'll have scars. But you won't lose any mobility. And you might get an awesome superpower. You'll be able to predict the weather!” When neither of the kids smiled, he sighed. “Seriously. Give yourself plenty of time to heal this. Take it easy. You have a literal hole in your leg. Take care of it or you'll make it worse.

 

She snorted. “Right. Like you take care of yourself?”

 

“What?!”

 

“Right... here!” Reaching out, Emmet poked him in the side. Right where he's gotten hit by a stray bullet two days ago. He couldn't stop the slight gasp of pain and surprise from leaving his mouth.

 

“Ha. Ow.” He placed his hand protectively over the spot, guarding it from any other attacks. “And how did you know about that?”

 

“The website.” Emmet answered. “SeventeenOranges said he saw you get shot there. And I'll bet you spent the entire trip here flipping off of rooftops, didn't you?”

 

Shakily, Theo tried to stand. She had to lean heavily on Emmet, but she got upright. “And you tell _me_ to take it easy?”

 

“That's different! I know my limits. I can handle this.” Jason frowned at them. Who did they think they were?

 

“Just because you can Hood,” Theo fixed him with a pointed look, “doesn't mean you should have to.” With a wave, she started out of the building, Emmet her very willing crutch. “Thanks for the patch up! Come to my place later. I'll have a batch of cookies ready as a thank you!”

 

Later that night, as he was restocking his first aid kit with pain killers, it struck him. He staggered, back thudding into the wall. He slid down until he was sitting, one hand over his mouth. Those kids... cared about him? Enough to try and lecture him about caring for himself despite the problems they had? Thanking him was one thing, but this... This couldn't be right...

 

It was something Batman had done. So often. Lectured him about his carelessness, while Alfred was pulling bullets out of his shoulder. At the time, Jason thought that he'd just been adding insult to injury. Was it possible...?

 

No. No it wasn't.

 

The kids didn't care. They couldn't.

 

He was just a murderer.

 

* * *

 

Red Hood stretched. Another long day, another couple of rapists with new holes in their heads. The latest trend in criminal fashion. He was about to call it a night when a little girl shrieked. Right. Take care of that, then an early night.

 

He dived off his building, conveniently located right above the scream. And landed just as the little girl, maybe eight years old, delivered a lightning fast punch into the stomach of the creepy guy who had been leering at her a moment ago.

 

Literally. Lightning fast. He hadn't seen a punch that fast since he'd been on the Teen Titans.

 

The girl shrieked again, kicked the guy while he was down, then turned to Red Hood and, once again, screamed. She shot towards him, but he was used to speedsters, and she wasn't that good yet. He stepped to one side and caught her fist as she raced by. He held her with one hand, removing his helmet with the other. “Hey kid, not gonna hurt you. I came to help.”

 

She brightened. Maybe it was what he said, but it was more likely the lack of helmet. “Oh! Hello!”

 

“Hello.” She didn't look like she was going to punch him again, so he let her go.

 

“My name is Irey West! What's yours?”

 

West. Probably Wally's kid then. Jason sighed. “Red. Now what are you doing in Bludhaven Irey? I didn't hear about any speedsters in the area.”

 

“I was running and running and I wanted to see how far I could go and I got here in half the time it usually takes to get here but then I got hungry.” She blushed a bit. “Dad gets hungry all the time, but he keeps going. I should be able to keep going.”

 

“Hey, you're still young. It probably took your dad years to figure out how to do that.” She nodded, and Jason smiled a bit. “Do you know how to get home from here?”

 

“Um. No. I wasn't really paying attention.”

 

He sighed internally. “Alright. Let's get you some food, then we can call your dad to pick you up.”

 

So Jason pulled his helmet back on, and they walked to a nearby food cart. This particular food cart was driven by a guy who didn't particularly care what Red Hood did in his free time. A customer was a customer. Plus, he sold the best chili dogs in the city.

 

Jason ordered one for himself and six for the kid. Then he led the way to a rooftop, and they ate in silence for a bit. “Do you know your home phone number?” She rattled it off, and Jason plugged it into his tenth burner phone.

 

“ _Yo! Wally here!_ ”

 

He wasn't really thinking. If he was, he probably wouldn't have opened with, “I've got your daughter.”

 

“ _WHAT?_ ”

 

Jason's eyes widened. “No! Wow, that did _not_ come out right! Your daughter ran to Bludhaven and doesn't know how to get to whichever city you live in. Central? Keystone? One of those.”

 

“ _What? Oh come on! I let her out of my sight for five minutes..._ ”

 

“Yeah, apparently you have to watch kids. Shocker. Anyways, we're on the corner of Forty-Third and Skunk Ave. Can you come pick her up please?”

 

“ _Can I talk to her?_ ”

 

Jason didn't bother answering, simply handing the phone to the little girl sitting next to him. She wiped a bit of cheese off of her nose, then said around one last bite of chili dog, “Hiya Daddy! ... Yes Daddy, I'm fine. ... No, he's really nice! He even bought me food! ... Chili dogs. ... How can they be bad for me if they're delicious? ... Ok Daddy! I'll see you in a minute!” She hit End, leaving a smudge of grease on the button, and handed it back.

 

Jason pocketed his phone, then pulled on his helmet. As brief as it had been, Wally West had known him when he was Robin. He couldn't risk being recognized.

 

The filters sealed with a hiss just as a streak of red flashed down the street. Then turned back. Then stopped, revealing the Flash in all his red-spandex glory, looking up and down the street.

 

Irey giggled. “Up here Daddy!” The man vanished, blinking into existence right next to his daughter and sweeping her into his arms.

 

“Irey! You know better than to run cross country without me!” It was a scold, but the corners of Flash's mouth were twitching up.

 

“Sorry Dad! I got distracted. But I got to the East coast twice as fast as I normally do!”

 

“Really? That's my girl!” He twirled her around a bit, then slung her onto his back. Only once she was secure did he turn to the Red Hood. “Thanks for taking care of her.” The “and for not pumping her for information about my secret identity” went unspoken.

 

Red Hood decided not to tell the speedster that even if he hadn't known them from before, he still would have known their names. Irey introduced herself as “Irey West” and Flash had answered the phone as “Wally”. These people needed to be more careful. “Don't mention it.”

 

As he grappled away, he heard Flash begin to ask, “Hey, aren't you that villain... dude...?” Flash grumbled. Usually it was Nightwing or Batman who did that to him. Now random villains were too? He should drag him to jail just for that!

 

But no, he had to get Irey home and settled into bed. Besides, Irey had said Red Hood was nice and he didn't want to drag the guy who had fed his daughter off to jail. Not in front of her anyways. That would be ungrateful. Still, nothing wrong with telling the bats about it.

 

So, he sped home, gave Irey and Jai supper, told them to take a bath, then read to them until they fell asleep. He spent an hour picking up the minor crime in Keystone, then fell into bed. By morning, he'd forgotten the whole incident.

 


	11. Singing of a Bright Red Omen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three requests this time!

It had happened three months ago. A girl, walking through an abandoned alleyway late at night, not an unusual sight for Bludhaven. But unlike the more street-savvy girls, this one wasn't outwardly carrying a weapon, and had a distinctly distracted look on her face. Easy prey for any scumbag. And so Red Hood had followed her. Just until she got somewhere safe for the evening.

 

But Bludhaven being Bludhaven, a group of guys had materialized from the sides of the alley, surrounding her in a half circle. The leader had gotten a sick grin across his face. “Well well. What do we have here?”

 

The others took their turns. “Goin' somewhere cutie?” “Want us t'escort you?” “Don't worry, we'll take _real_ good care of ya.”

 

Behind his mask, Red Hood had sneered. It was always the same script with these kinds of tools. He dropped from his rooftop, landing behind the terrified girl and pressing a hand over her eyes. The other hand carried his gun which unloaded itself in quick succession into the scums' genitalia. Then he led the girl away from the gore and the screams. “Sorry. I'll uncover your eyes in a minute. But you really don't want to see that.”

 

She had swallowed. “I'll take your word for it. Are you going to try and hurt me too?”

 

“No. But I will follow you from the rooftops until you get somewhere safe if you want me to.”

 

“Yes please.”

 

Red Hood hadn't been paying attention to the five guys he'd castrated. If he had, he would have noticed one of them hold up his own gun and take a shot. But he had heard the gunshot and pushed the girl out of the way. He'd felt the line of fire across one bicep, but it was just a graze so he'd dismissed it.

 

They had almost been at the mouth of the alley, so Red Hood had uncovered her eyes. Both hands free, he'd pulled off his helmet before she'd turned. She blushed a bit when she caught sight of his face, then nodded. “Why did you save me? You don't even know me. You got _hurt_ because of me.” She'd gestured at his arm.

 

He frowned a bit. “But you needed help. And no matter what, if I can help, then I will.” She looked thoughtful at that. “Where are you headed?” If he knew, he could plan his route better.

 

She'd pointed in a vaguely northwest direction. “The community center. There's some auditions for a singing competition being held there.”

 

“Got it.” He'd grappled up, shadowing her as she made her way to the audition and waiting for her to come out. Then he made sure she got home safe. As she had stood in her doorway, she'd traced the rooftops, looking for him. He'd given a wave, and vanished.

 

That had been three months ago. Today, Jason had put on some night time television to pass the time while he healed up from a sprained ankle. It'd be good enough to walk on tomorrow, but for today, it had to be up.

 

He was flipping the channels, not paying any particular attention, when a familiar face caught his eye. He flipped back a few numbers, to a national singing competition. It was the girl on screen. The host was smiling and holding a mic to the girl's face. “So, anything you want to say before your last song?”

 

The girl, Alicia Medri by the caption, beamed as she took the mic. “Just a few thank yous. Mom and Dad, for being so supportive, not just for the past three months, but my entire life. Angie and Mark, you've always been there for me. And Red, wherever you are, thank you. I wouldn't be here tonight if it wasn't for you. This one's for you.” She passed the mic back and walked back to the stage.

 

The host said a few things that Jason didn't pay attention to, because suddenly, Alicia was _singing_. She was fantastic. By the end of the performance, Jason was a little breathless.

 

Alicia ended up being the youngest winner of that particular singing competition in a little under a decade. Her CD would hit stores in two months. In the very back of the lyric booklet was the dedication page. “To Red. Who saved my life through his actions, then again through his legend. If I can help, I will.”

 

* * *

 

The first was just a blotch of red. He'd noticed it on the corner of his eye, but was a bit busy chasing down a bank robber fleeing the scene to check it out. And then he forgot.

 

The second, he dismissed. Some kid, trying to be rebellious. He'd seen it a thousand times before on walls and newspaper dispensers.

 

Then, suddenly, it was everywhere. Every train car, every building. “Red Hood was here”. Painted helmets. Everywhere.

 

The city normally got called within a day by outraged property owners. The words and pictures got painted over and forgotten. Until, in the middle of the night, someone came by and repainted them.

 

“Red Hood was here”.

 

“Red Hood, hero of Bludhaven”.

 

“Red Hood protects us”.

 

For a while, Jason tried not to think about it. On one hand, he truly did like marking his territory. Before he was Robin, having clear borders around your stuff told everyone in a five mile radius that it was _claimed_ and that it would be _fought_ for. It was no guarantee that it would be safe, but it kept weaker people away. But some people would see it as a challenge, take what was yours because they wanted to prove themselves better.

 

On the other hand, he wasn't sure if he had earned it. He wasn't a hero. He shot more people than he saved. He didn't deserve to have his image plastered onto a building like it might be there for years to come.

 

It was impossible to ignore though. The symbols were multiplying, faster than the city could erase them. Red spray paint got banned. Then red house paint. Then all red paint, acrylic, tempura, latex and watercolour. Then, when people started mixing red dye into white paint, that got banned too.

 

A few clever graffiti artists hit the rooftops. Messages visible only from the air decorated half the downtown skyscrapers. The one traffic helicopter in the city did a wide shot of the whole thing for the evening news. Still more started using other languages. Chaperon Rouge nous protège. Capucha Roja, héroe de Bludhaven. Helmets got hidden in vast murials of flowers.

 

After a while, it seemed like the city had given up. They stopped painting over the symbols and words. And likewise, new graffiti slowed down, until it was a new image a week, a fresh sentence a month.

 

But red paint was still banned in Bludhaven.

 

* * *

 

Malcolm East was having a bad day.

 

He was supposed to get a shipment of cocaine today, a shipment which would make him rich. Richer. But the Red Hood got at it first. The _fucking_ Red Hood got at it like he gets at every- _fucking-_ thing else. The man was unstoppable, incorruptible and a royal _pain_ in Malcolm's ass. The first chance he got...

 

“Um Boss?”

 

Malcolm seriously considered shooting the man. Not only would it be suitable punishment for interrupting his thoughts, it would vastly improve his mood. But then his superiors would want to know why he was murdering perfectly good scapegoats. So instead, he fixed the man with a glare that would be sure to make him wet himself, and ground out, “What?”

 

Sure enough, the man looked like he would let loose the floodgates if Malcolm twitched wrong. With a sigh, he toned down his glare. The carpet took to stains like a dog to water and the smell would take forever to get out. Relieved, the man spoke, “I found something. Well, my daughter did. She's been going on this site for over a month and, well, I think it can help you find Red Hood.” He passed over a tablet.

 

Interest piqued, Malcolm tuned out the man (nervously explaining that he had worried his daughter was speaking to that damned _Evans_ boy when he had bade it _clear_ that monster of a child was to go nowhere near his angel), instead going through the website.

 

Sightings. Patrol patterns. Where he showed up and when. Pictures of him, most with his helmet on. All written by damned _kids_! Kids who, from other posts on this site, worshiped the Red Hood as some sort of goddamned _hero_! Malcolm sat back in his chair, eyeing the tablet like a brick of gold. This... this was the chance he had been waiting for.

 

“Rickie.” He gestured to one of his less useless flunkies, who hopped to like his ass was on fire. “Go through this. _Every_ bit of useful info, I want on my desk first thing tomorrow, you get me?”

 

“You got it Boss.”

 

Malcolm smiled. Perhaps his luck was turning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh. That was ominous.


	12. Sleepy Shells and an Aside

“Again Shelly?”

 

He glared down at the little girl in exasperation. But, as always, it was nearly impossible to stay mad at her. Not only did she have the greatest puppy dog eyes in existence, but she was wearing footie pajamas. Footie pajamas that had rabbit ears attached to the hood.

 

Shelly was a sleep walker. Heh. Sleep “walker”. Sleep monkey was more accurate. Or sleep homing device. He'd first encountered her a month ago when she'd scaled a rain pipe to sit beside him, which had scared the bejeezus out of him and almost made him snipe his target early. Which was really impressive for an eight year old.

 

So he'd escorted her home, once she'd woken up, and gone about his week. Until she found him again taking a break on the other side of town. And then again when he was in the middle of dismantling the Smoke Serpents. Luckily, she hadn't woken up until he'd gotten her two block away. She didn't need to see that.

 

This time, he'd found her. Crying on a rooftop, miles away from her house. With a sniffle, she readjusted the grip on her foot and said, “I'm sorry Mr. Red.”

 

He sighed. “Let me see.” Carefully picking her up, he walked further from the edge and put her down on a vent. Then he grabbed her foot.

 

Biting back a grimace, Jason inspected the damage. Her footie pajamas had finally worn out. The thin rubber soles were gone and there were more holes than fabric at this point, leaving her feet to the mercy of Bludhaven's rooftops. The other foot was fine, but this one was bleeding. The pain had probably woken her up.

 

“It's not too bad.” Pulling a water bottle from his belt, “this might sting a bit,” he poured it out over her foot to clean it. Shelly was very brave. Didn't even make a sound. “Just a bit scraped.” He rubbed some disinfecting cream on it, then wrapped it gently in bandages. Finally, he pulled a bag of gummi bears out of his pocket and handed them over. Those were supposed to be his midnight snack, but he could get a chili dog or something later.

 

Since she clearly couldn't walk like this, he turned around and offered his back. She was familiar enough with the gesture to accept immediately. Clipping his helmet to his belt, he pulled his grapple. “Hold on tight Shelly.”

 

And so Red Hood flew over the rooftops, with an eight year old in rabbit footie pajamas clinging piggy back style to his neck.

 

He wanted the trip to be as gentle as possible, so on the next rooftop, he started walking. “I know you can't really control what you do while sleeping Shelly, but you really need to stop this. Next time, you could walk in to something really dangerous.”

 

She sniffled again, but not a true sniff of sadness. Just some residual snot the gummi bears hadn't dried up yet. “I know. But I get nightmares.”

 

“Nightmares?” He gingerly stepped down to the next ledge.

 

Nodding against his neck, she let go so she could put another handful of bears into her mouth. She probably should have this much sugar before bed, but oh well. “Yup. I dream of bad stuff. Places I don't recognize. A man wearing a black and orange mask. A giant on a throne, surrounded by fire and pain. Laughter and crowbars. A guy who looks like Superman, but _not_. A man in black wearing lightning. Other stuff. And it scares me. But I always know when it's safe to wake up. And I do. And you're there.”

 

Jason had tensed at the “laughter and crowbars”. The other stuff, he recognized. Deathstroke, Darkseid, Ultraman, Black Adam. Villains who didn't make the news often, either because they didn't get caught, because they blew up any hovering cameras, or because they went back to their dimension before the news could get wind of it. But no one outside of the hero community knew how he died. No one. He'd checked.

 

Could this girl have retrocognition? No way to tell. But if she was a type of psychic, then it would explain how she kept finding him.

 

He sighed. No way to keep her from following after him either. He just didn't have access to the kind of equipment he would need to block a psychic. Especially since most of that was experimental or under heavy guard by League members. “I can't help you with your nightmares Shelly. But you do know you're safe at home, right?” He'd checked, the second time she'd found him. He wasn't going to drop her at home if home led her to climbing rooftops in her PJs.

 

“I know. But Mom and Dad are just people. They can protect me from the daylight things, but you can protect me from the night time things.”

 

She was really putting too much faith in him. “I know Shelly. Hey, tell your mom to get you new pajamas. The ones you're wearing are too worn out to go out.”

 

She flicked him on the back of the head. “I like these ones!”

 

“So tell her to fix them. If not, you're going to keep getting hurt.” He jostled her injured foot to illustrate his point.

 

She nodded again, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. He climbed down her fire escape once he reached it, one step at a time. This was probably how she got to the roofs at night, but disabling it would endanger the whole building.

 

When he dropped her off at her window, as he did every time she went out, she hugged him. “Red, when I grow up, will you marry me?”

 

“What?!”

 

“Mommy said to marry a guy who makes me feel safe, and I feel safe around you.”

 

Jason sputtered. “I am involved in way too much dangerous stuff for you to ever be safe around me and-” He cut off when she gave him the puppy dog eyes again. Damn. Sigh. “We'll see.”

 

Giving a squeal of joy and one last hug, she bounced into bed, very reminiscent of rabbit. “Thanks Red! Don't worry, I'll handle all of the preparations!” And before he could protest, she was asleep.

 

After sliding her window shut, but before leaving, he rigged up a little sensor on the frame. If it opened after ten o'clock, Shelly's bed time, it would notify him. If she was going to keep coming after him in her sleep, he was going to make sure he wasn't in the middle of something when she showed up.

 

Seriously, these kids would be the death of him.

 

But as he swung away, he smiled.

 

* * *

 

Most of his customers didn't know his name. They just called him Food Cart Guy, and he was perfectly alright with that. In Bludhaven, becoming well known put a target on your back.

 

Food Cart Guy was a hot dog vendor. And he had many varieties. He had beef dogs and Polish dogs and pork dogs and chicken dogs and even veggie dogs for the two vegetarian regulars he had. He had four types of relish and six types of mustard, but only two kinds of ketchup because no one could actually tell the difference between regular and fat free. People asked for onions and kraut and chili and cheese. If he did not have a topping, one only had to ask and by the next day, he would keep pickles aside, just for you.

 

Yes, he was a very good hot dog vendor.

 

But even the best vendors had tragedy in their lives. His came in the form of his daughter. For all eleven of her years, she was an absolute joy. Helping him at the cart on weekends, giving him hugs when he got home on weekdays. And his food cart paid for her dance lessons. She was his pride.

 

But then she was in a hit and run. Someone robbed a bank, leading to a car chase when the cops arrived. The inconspicuous sedan swerved around her. The cop car did not.

 

Both of her legs were broken. And the surgery that would allow her to dance again cost more than his food cart could afford. The cop that ran her over denied ever doing so, and the force backed him up. So he could not even get money from them.

 

If he sold his cart, he might have enough. But then he would not be able to feed his daughter. He had no other skills.

 

Food Cart Guy sat beside his daughter's hospital bed, holding her hand and stroking her hair. He was all she had, all she had ever relied on, and he had failed her. He fell asleep crying.

 

The next morning, doctors and nurses swarmed her bed, hustling her off to surgery. Her bill had been paid in full, with a generous donation to the children's ward. The cop who had hit her went on live television and confessed. The man had had bruises, and looked terrified.

 

His daughter was saved. And Food Cart Guy could not be happier. But he still felt like a failure.

 

Two months later, his daughter was on the mend. She would start physio in another month. With luck, she would dance before the year was out. And Food Cart guy was back at his cart. His prices had dropped for a week in apology to his regulars. They had not been able to get a decent lunch while his daughter was in the hospital.

 

At night time, when his daughter was safe in the house he shared with another family, he took his cart downtown so he could feed the night ladies. Most of them were much too thin and needed some meat on their bones. His hot dogs were very healthy.

 

Unfortunately, sometimes people got ideas. People like the addict in front of him, holding a gun and demanding all his profits from the night. Frightened, Food Cart Guy was reaching into his box when his best customer showed up.

 

His best customer tapped the addict on the shoulder, and when the addict turned, punched him in the face. The man landed in a pile of garbage bags. His best customer grabbed the man and dragged him off. When he came back, he was not wearing his helmet. He bought his usual chili dog and paid. “Hey. How's your daughter?”

 

Food Cart Guy was surprised. He had not told anyone about his daughter. It was unprofessional. And since none of his customers knew his name, the kerfuffle on TV would not mean anything to them. “She is on the mend. Thank you for asking.”

 

His customer nodded. “Good. Your chili dogs are the best in the city. It would be a shame if you had to sell your cart to pay for her hospital bills.” And his best customer waved and vanished into the night.

 

And Food Cart Guy was happy. He was not a failure. He _had_ saved his daughter. Him and his cart and his hot dogs. She would dance again because his best customer was _his_ customer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Aside is the chapter title I'll be using for anything that doesn't involve Jason and a child form now on. It'll be more in the sequel than here though.
> 
> Izzy! This one is for you! Also, I don't know if your review on FF was a request, but I am taking it.


	13. Consequences

Another day, another scumbag who would be needing a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Normally, Red Hood would have stopped there, but this guy, this guy was special. Noah Hobbes is charming. He could talk his way out of any situation with little more than a handful of words and a smile. So, Red Hood pulled out his knife. “Hold still. You wouldn't want me to miss.”

 

The knife alighted on the man's throat and any thrashing he was capable of doing (waist up only) stopped. Carefully, Red Hood moved his knife and a glistening crimson smile appeared on the man's throat. Deep. But it missed both the jugular and the carotid, and the larynx was intact. But not the vocal cords. With a satisfied smile, Red Hood put a compress bandage on it. Hobbes would live, so he wasn't a martyr for his stupid cult, but this would break him. Make him more human.

 

He had just finished texting the cops when his phone rang. He picked up as fast as he always did, but before he could say a greeting, a child's voice came over the line, small and panicked. “ _Red, help. There's men here and-_ ” The boy cut off.

 

Jason was already tracing the call. “I'm on my way.”

 

It was surprisingly close. Five minutes swinging later and he was sitting on top of a warehouse, peering down through the skylight. There were a few guards milling about, all armed with machine guns. If he just jumped down there, the guards might panic and hurt the kid. So he needed to find the kid first, but there was no where he could be! The warehouse was strangely empty of crates and shelves, and there weren't any tarps that they could hide a kid under. Had they moved the kid? But then why would there be guards here still? Maybe there was a back room...

 

He shifted over a foot just as a gunshot sounded. The bullet lodged in his shoulder – not his chest like it probably should have – and he turned to face the shooter, using a nearby vent as cover, guns in hand. He fired where he thought the bullet might have come from, pleased when he heard a grunt of pain. Carefully poking his head out of his cover, he had to jump back when another sniper started taking pot shots. A curse escaped his mouth. This cover wasn't the best if he wanted to take out the second sniper. He'd get hit before he could get his guns up.

 

Hm. That air conditioning unit would probably do. Slapping a quick compress bandage onto his shoulder while he had a moment, he dived for it, rolling to safety just in time. Peeking around the side of the AC, he spotted the shooter. With a smirk, he took his shot.

 

The gunfire stopped. Maybe if he was lucky, the noise would attract the guards inside the warehouse. Then there would be less standing around the kid. Red Hood started making his way back to the skylight.

 

And staggered.

 

His head started getting fuzzy. How...? He'd gotten shot before, he was used to it, couldn't possibly be going into shock.

 

No, not shock. Horse tranquilizers. Horse tranquilizers? Yeah, definitely. Sad fact of his childhood, he could identify which kind of sedative was being used on him by its effects. Horse tranqs in a hollow point bullet.

 

The guards from downstairs were suddenly surrounding him. Fighting them would make the tranq circulate faster, but he didn't really have much of a choice. He wouldn't get far if he ran and besides, the kid needed him. So he pushed himself off of the AC he was using as support and punched the first guard stupid enough to get close in the face. The second was felled with a kick to the groin. The third to fall was Red Hood, and no one even had to touch him.

 

* * *

 

HallowRed: and that's how my sister lost her first tooth

SeventeenOranges: Hey! something's going down. sniper fire near my house.

ChocolateOverRoses: here too! Warehouse 17 by the docks.

ReportCars: Saw RH goin that way. looked like he wuz in a hurry.

Lincoln: what's going on? anyone kno?

LadyPrada: can see frm my window.

LadyPrada: RH down.

GangRelated: on my way. Any1 with combat experience can help. Every1 else, stay home.

Martial_Kid: I have experience!

GangRelated: sixteen and up. srry.

 

 

* * *

 

The first thing he noticed was the ache in his neck from the muscles being forcibly stretched. From the feel of it, someone had tried to pull his helmet off without releasing the catches. Which hadn't worked. At all.

 

Which made it a hell of a lot easier to hide that he was awake.

 

The second thing he noticed was that he was seated in an incredibly uncomfortable wooden chair with his hands cuffed behind him and his ankles secured to the legs. Not anything to worry about. More troubling was the lack of the familiar weight of his belt around his waist. Whoever had captured him was smart enough to take it.

 

A fierce grin spread across his face. Whoever had captured him was stupid enough to leave him his gloves. Gloves with lock picks built into the fingers. He flicked them out and got to work, covering the movement with a groan and a twitch.

 

“Hey Boss! He's awake!”

 

Clomping footsteps approached, the kind made by someone who doesn't know how to wear his Armani shoes properly. Rich thug, built himself up by dragging others down. That was good. That meant this was personal to him. So whoever this guy was, he had his gang with him, and not half the city.

 

Red Hood allowed his head to roll, as if he was shaking off the tranq. That small movement gave him a good view of most of the warehouse. Armani Thug was still a good five feet in front of him. Twelve other guys, armed to the teeth, but relaxed. And why not? Their prisoner was tied up. No getting out of those bonds.

 

His belt was draped on a crate twenty feet to his left, guns and knives out. The other pockets were closed. They probably couldn't get past the security. His jacket was on the crate next to it, all the little item he kept for the kids out in the open. The stuffed hippo three year old Jace had given him that he used to cheer up other small kids. All six packs of gummi bears and sour worms. Some pieces of paper that he folded into birds when he had time. A deck of cards for rooftop Go Fish, a small bottle of bubble liquid, a few bubble wands, and a yoyo.

 

But he didn't see the kid. Where was he? If he busted out of here without knowing, then the henchmen could kill him before Red Hood could get there.

 

Oop, no time to wonder. Armani Thug grabbed the crown of his helmet, fingers slipping on the slick surface for a moment before finding purchase and forcing Red Hood to look at him. “Hello. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“Can't say the same.” He put a bit of slur into his words. The more they underestimated him, the smoother this would go. “Considering I have no idea who you are.” Click. These were really easy cuffs.

 

Armani Thug's face twisted in rage and his fist rocketed forward, slamming into Red Hood's chest. The chair jumped back but managed to stay upright. So it wasn't bolted to the floor. Huh. What kind of idiot cuffs ankles to an unbolted chair?

 

But the boss-man was talking. Well, yelling. Hood should probably pay attention. “After you've busted up sixteen of my operations?! Burned eight warehouses?! And you have the _balls_ to say you _have no idea who I am_?!” He stopped yelling, took a step back, and pushed his hair back into place. “Fine. I am Malcolm East. And you are going to pay for everything you've done. Right after my men take their copious frustrations out on you.” And with that, the man turned, raising his hand in the most obvious signal Red Hood had ever seen.

 

Seriously, even the lowest crime boss in Gotham could mobilize his flunkies with a twitch. But a whole arm movement? “Can't even bring yourself to do your own torture, huh?”

 

Armani Thug – yeah, yeah, his name was East. He still didn't know how to wear that suit – settled in for the show. His goons picked up their preferred tools, ranging from two-by-fours to tire irons. Jason shuddered a bit when one picked up a crow bar. “Oh, I'll get mine. Don't you worry Hood. But I'm a generous boss. I'll let them have a go at you first.”

 

And so they did. Honestly, the chair was a little helpful. Sure, his chest, abdomen and legs got a beating, but his back and arms were fine. And while the parts taking hits were pretty vital, standing was nearly impossible without back muscles, and he couldn't throw a punch if his arms were broken.

 

More than a few blows landed on his helmet and while most of the shock was absorbed, enough of it got through to give him a ringing headache. A headache that was not helped when his chair finally crashed to the floor. Armani Thug laughed. “Don't go passing out on me Hood! I need you awake for my turn!”

 

Red Hood let out a laugh, ignoring the way blood ran down his chin. “Well don't worry. I'm not going anywhere until I know the kid is safe.” A bit clumsy, but hopefully that line would get him his fish. And if not, well, he could always blame it on the still-bleeding shoulder wound.

 

Luckily, Armani Thug took the bait. “Don't you get it yet Hood? There was no kid! Just an audio recording sent through a cell phone!”

 

“Oooh.” Smiling, Red Hood rolled his uninjured shoulder. “Isn't that interesting.” He was halfway through that last word when he pulled the cuffs off completely, slipping the ankle cuffs off of the chair legs. Surging forward, he grabbed one thug's tire iron and used it to clock another over the head. Using another as a springboard, he covered the distance to his belt and grabbed both of his guns. His aim was a little off, just a touch woozy from the pain and blood loss and broken ribs, but still, within ten seconds, all of the thugs were dead or dying on the concrete floor.

 

All except for Armani Thug who was once again showcasing his intelligence and running. Red Hood shot him in the leg. Then, when he crashed to the ground, shot him in the shoulder. Slowly, he stalked up to his opponent. “How did you know my number?”

 

Armani Thug laughed. “You're an idiot Hood! Keeping a website like that up! And you honestly thought no one would use it against you?” Like every crazy that had to have his master plan known before the end.

 

Hrn. Great.

 

Question answered, there was nothing between Armani Thug and a bullet in his brain pan.

 

Red Hood limped out of the warehouse, stopping to pick up all his stuff and double tap anyone still breathing. And was surprised to encounter a small horde of kids. Six of them, all in their late teens, holding baseball bats and a gun or two that had “general household defense gun” written all over them. “Uh. Hi?”

 

The teens turned from what was probably a whispered strategy meeting, startled, to face him. Addy looked vaguely disappointed. “Damn. I wanted to be your knight in shining armor...” Ok, ignoring Addy.

 

“What are you guys doing here? It's not exactly safe.”

 

Trey, eighteen, works as a mechanic, stepped up. “Some people on the site saw you go down! What happened?”

 

Jason pulled his helmet off and smiled. “Nothing. I just made a mistake. Those happen. But I'm fine and,” he reached around to grab Logan's arm when the seventeen year old tried to walk past him, “you really don't want to go into that warehouse. Thanks for the save guys. Now head home.”

 

Dejected, the kids did as he asked, after he bribed them with all the snacks he had. Before he left, Kyle turned around and asked, “Red, are you sure it was something you did?”

 

“Positive.”

 

Once he was sure the kids were well on their way home, he put his helmet back on and headed towards Malcolm East's head quarters.

 

Time to stop the spread of information. The website was the kids' sanctuary. And there was no way he was going to let a bunch of lowlifes ruin it for them.

 


	14. Shazam and Trigger Happy Chipmunk

****

Billy Batson wasn't lost. He wasn't. He definitely knew where he was. In Bludhaven. Somewhere.

 

He sighed. The League had been discussing the situation in Bludhaven for quite a while, but it was back burner stuff. Nothing that would explode into a powder keg any time soon. And nothing that would require him to be here. No reason other than Batman's paranoia and the minor fact that literally everyone else was busy. Superman was on a different planet. Flash and the Titans were in China investigating a thing and unreachable by any normal communication. Wonder Woman was dealing with Themyscera diplomatic problems. All of the Green Lanterns were off planet, Green Arrow was in deep cover, and Batman was _Batman_. A person didn't just _ask_ him what he was doing that made him so busy. So Captain Marvel had gotten himself volunteered.

 

Really, if Batman wanted to know more about this Red Hood guy, he should just come over here himself. Gotham was right across the river, it wouldn't even be that big of a trip.

 

With a sigh, he pulled out his map. It was at least ten years outdated, but it had been the cheapest one at the gas station. How had he gotten lost anyways? He was more familiar in the streets than anywhere else. Honestly, he should probably just turn into Captain Marvel and fly up, get a better look at the city. But it was dark out and a random lightning strike would definitely get him noticed. This was supposed to be a stealth mission.

 

Squinting at his map, then at the street sign, Billy took a chance. This would either get him to the docks, a good place to find crime, or to the suburbs. He was really hoping for the former. That's what Red Hood did, right? Fight crime in the most lethal way possible?

 

Easy mission. Find the Red Hood. Get information that would keep Batman satisfied that Red Hood wasn't planning anything dastardly. Go home. Easy, except for the part where he didn't know where he was.

 

Glancing at the nearest street sign, he tried to find it on his map. This city really did make no sense. Half of the streets had names and the other half had numbers, but they weren't in any kind of order. Angling the map so the street lamp lit it up, he squinted at it.

 

A gloved hand dipped over his shoulder, finger stabbing at a spot on the map, followed closely by a slightly modulated voice saying, “You're right here.”

 

Billy jumped, his shoulder crashing into the person's forearm. “Um, than-” His voice trailed off as he turned. Right behind him was a man in a brown leather jacket and body armor, the red helmet on his head a very clear indicator of his identity. “Red Hood.” How had he gotten this lucky? Or unlucky as the case may be.

 

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to look from afar. Red Hood was _deadly_ , and here he was standing in front of Billy with his hands hanging down by his gun holsters and Billy wasn't entirely sure he'd get out of this alive.

 

But instead of drawing a gun, Red Hood just crossed his arms and tilted his head in a nod. “That's me. You lost?”

 

Billy frowned. “No!” He wasn't. The map was just a bit tricky to read. That's _all_.

 

A laugh came through Red Hood's voice mod. “Right. Well,” grabbing one side of the map, Red Hood pulled it straight and pointed at it again, “you're here. And that building over there,” he pointed to a massive and insanely bright structure a few blocks away, then back at the map, “is right here. Is that enough to orient yourself?”

 

Mutely, Billy nodded.

 

“Great! So where are you headed anyways? Maybe I can help you get-” Red Hood cut himself off as his pocket let out a small tune. A phone? “Sorry, I have to get this.” He checked the caller ID, then answered, “Casey, I told you to call during emergencies only. ... No, making a mess of your kitchen is not an emergency. ... So what? ... Casey, you're seven years old, you shouldn't be turning on the oven.” Billy probably shouldn't be listening in on the conversation, but he was still a little thunderstruck at the fact that Red Hood was standing next to him. Should he run? But he was supposed to gather information. And the phone call was crazy interesting. Red Hood sighed, one hand running over the helmet in frustration. “Fine. See you in twenty minutes.” He hung up and turned back to Billy. “Sorry, going to have to take a rain check on playing tour guide. Small emergency.”

 

Red Hood pulled a grapple from his belt, and Billy realized that he was just going to leave. It would solve his “standing next to a murderer” problem, but he still needed information. Batman wouldn't be happy with what little he had. So before he could stop himself with silly things like logic or good, common street sense, Billy blurted, “Did you need a hand? I don't really have to be anywhere any time soon, and you can show me where to go afterwards.”

 

Billy squirmed under the weight of Red Hood's regard, breathing a small sigh of relief when the man shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He crouched slightly, grabbing Billy around the waist and hoisting him up. “Hold on tight.”

 

The ride over the rooftops was familiar. Nightwing had taken him swinging once and while he much preferred flying, it wasn't exactly something Billy could forget. So he savoured the feeling of wind in his hair and the plunge of his heart into his gut at each drop, and the somewhat-sudden jolt as the grapple fired off again and prevented them from becoming road pancakes.

 

When they landed, it wasn't at a lair or warehouse like he'd expected. It was a small two-story, sandwiched between a cafe and a bar, with a little girl waiting on the porch. “Red, you're here!” The girl broke into a gap-toothed smile at the sight of the vigilante, and opened the door so they could come in.

 

“I said I would be kid.” He ruffled her hair a bit as he walked past, ignoring her swatting hands. “Please tell me you actually have something for me to do this time. Because if you don't, I'm blocking your number.” The threat didn't even sound genuine.

 

The girl giggled. “I promise I do. But first,” sticking her hand out towards Billy, she said proudly, “I'm Casey Green! Nice to meet you!”

 

“Oh, um. Hi. I'm Billy Batson.” Stupid. Should have used a fake name.

 

“Yep. Brought a helper, just for you. Mess is in the kitchen?” Red Hood moved casually, like he had been here before. Casey and Billy followed.

 

“Mess” wasn't the right word. Not quite anyways. Neither was “wreck”. The kitchen was in shambles. A disaster. Chaos. He could get more descriptors if he looked in a dictionary or thesaurus but he didn't have one.

 

Red Hood agreed. “Casey, seriously, how did you manage this?”

 

“Well, I was making white chocolate brownie cupcakes, but you had to melt the chocolate so I did that, but then it 'sploded _all_ over the walls, and then I tried to pull the flour from the shelf and I dropped it, but there was enough left in the bag for the recipe and then I made the raspberry sauce but I dropped it and then when I was getting the cupcake pan out all of the other pans came crashing down and then i dropped the eggs when I was putting them back in the fridge.”

 

Billy looked over the “mess” with a look of disbelief. How had he gotten himself into this mess? Right, he'd volunteered. Been volunteered. Batman owed him, big time.

 

Red Hood just sighed, as if he had been expecting something like this, and took off his jacket. “Well, might as well get started. Billy, you're on dishes.”

 

It wasn't that Billy didn't like chores. Well, ok, he didn't. No one did. But he was used to them. And a little good at them too. But Casey's chocolate pan had an inch of burned chocolate on the bottom that wouldn't come out. Captain Marvel would probably have trouble with this. And the raspberry sauce got _everywhere_. By the time he was done scrubbing, he had seeds in his hair. Somehow.

 

From the corner of his eye, he kept an eye on Red Hood. The man worked like a machine. He swept up the flour while Casey held the dustpan, scraped white chocolate off of the walls, and somehow made the counters go from a war zone between the baking soda and the milk stains to a peaceful, glistening clean. At one point, Casey asked, “Red, aren't you going to take off your hat?”

 

“Not today Casey. Bad hair day.”

 

“Aww, but I wanted to colour your hair again! I have my markers and everything!”

 

Billy snorted to himself. That was probably why Red Hood was having a bad hair day.

 

Finally, it was over. Pots and pans were stacked, ingredients that could be salvaged were put back, and counters and floors sparkled. Billy hadn't seen this since his second foster home. Angie had been a clean freak.

 

Casey vanished into the cupboard, emerging with a large container. “Here! Only one batch survived, but they're yummy!”

 

And a white chocolate brownie cupcake with raspberry sauce was pressed into Billy's hands. Red Hood placed his gently in a pocket on his belt. “Thanks Casey.” Billy mumbled his thanks too.

 

“You're welcome!”

 

“Come on kid, time to go. And Casey! Off to bed. You have school in the morning.”

 

Casey just giggled again. “You got it Red!”

 

When the were outside and on a rooftop, Red Hood asked Billy where he was headed. Quickly, Billy rattled off the name of a hotel he'd seen on his way in. He was dropped off in record time. “Sorry I can't stick around kid. I did have somewhere to be tonight, and I have to get this done before dawn. You have a good one though Cap!”

 

Billy started. Had Red Hood just called him...? No, he couldn't have. He must have misheard. So he watched as Red Hood grappled away, then walked off. There was an abandoned apartment building he could sleep in for the night.

 

The next morning, all the news stations were reporting Red Hood's vicious attack on a large gang of “harmless” drug dealers. Billy sat in the electronics section of the local department store, watching. He hadn't eaten yet, and all he had was the brownie-cupcake thing. He pulled it from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. It was slightly burned, and lumpy, and after the disaster in the kitchen, he wasn't entirely sure the pastry wouldn't kill him.

 

Oh well. Food was food.

 

He took a large bite, intending to get it swallowed down before he could really taste it. Then jumped in surprise. The outside was crusty, but the inside was chewy like a brownie should be, and it was delicious! Much better than he had expected anyways. The next bite was smaller, to savour it.

 

He finished his brownie, then went off to find some more food. And to figure out what to report to Batman.

 

* * *

 

Carefully, Red Hood dropped down from the skylight and let himself into the office adjoining the warehouse. He only had two minutes to get his information and get out or the latest gun tech would flood the market and spark a gang war between at least three heavy hitters. Normally, Red Hood wouldn't mind getting a few gangs off the streets. But the casualties for a war like this one would be devastating.

 

So, of course, the only way to prevent it was to blow up the ship the guns were coming in on.

 

Manifesto in hand, he made his way to the docks.

 

Getting in should have been easy. This late at night, guards were never fully awake, and even if they were, no one ever watched the seaward side. They just took cursory glances to ensure that there wasn't a dingy parked next to the ship. So Red Hood just grappled up near the prow, then shimmied over until he was out of view of everyone. Then he hoisted himself up.

 

And had to duck as a fireball came rocketing towards him.

 

A _fireball_.

 

Yeah. Should have been easy. Should.

 

Dropping off the side, he was forced to hold himself up with one arm while pulling his gun with the other. He took a few pot shots over the side, just enough to force the other person to take cover, then pulled himself up again. He kept shooting until he had some half decent cover.

 

Red Hood checked his clip. Dissatisfied, he replaced it. Another projectile flew over his head, this time a massive ball of snow. Either it would freeze him on impact, or it had ice and rocks in it. Hard to say which was worse.

 

He counted the time between spells. After a hail of wooden needles and a second fireball, he got his timing down. Three, two, one.

 

Diving out from behind his cover and dodging the wave of mysterious purple energy flying at him, he steadied his gun, aimed and-

 

_Squeak_

 

He pulled the trigger, except the trigger wasn't there anymore. Instead, his finger pressed into the soft belly of a chipmunk. Red Hood sighed. He hated spell casters, for exactly this reason.

 

Probably a good thing though. Just before he had pulled the trigger, he'd seen his opponent for the first time, and adjusted his aim accordingly. If his gun had stayed a gun, then the bullet would have grazed the boy's leg and lodged itself in the floor behind him.

 

Those scumbags had an eleven year old spell caster guarding their ship. The boy looked terrified out of his mind and had probably cast the chipmunk spell on instinct. So, Jason stuck his hands up and declared, “Hold it. I'm unarmed.” Technically untrue, since the chipmunk in his hand used to be a gun, but since the chipmunk was a chipmunk, it was also completely true.

 

The kid took a few steadying breaths and lowered his hands. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

 

“Well, I'm Red Hood, and I'm here to blow up this ship. What about you? What are you doing here and would you like to go before it goes sky high?”

 

“Um, yes, but I can't.”

 

“Oh?” Jason sauntered over, hands still raised, until he was a few feet away from the kid. Taking a seat on a nearby crate, he absentmindedly stroked the chipmunk still in his hand. “Why not?”

 

In response, the kid kicked one of his legs a bit. The rattle of the chain was deafeningly quiet. “I can't get out of it. It's enchanted to resist magic.”

 

“Hm. Hold this.” Tossing the chipmunk into the boy's hands, Jason crouched down to look at the manacle around his ankle. Cautiously, he poked at it. Nothing happened. Pulling his picks, he stuck them in the lock. “Alright. Looks like they didn't spell it to resist mundane escape attempts. So, what's your story?” Pulling off his helmet, he squinted to get a better look.

 

The boy sighed and pet the chipmunk. “My name is Archie. And my parents were traveling magicians. With actual magic, not just tricks and illusions. They were just about to start training me when they died and I was sent to live with my uncle.” A little sneer entered his voice at the last word.

 

The pins in this manacle were ridiculously tight. They must have gotten rusty. “And your uncle isn't the nicest guy?”

 

“Nope. He smuggles for a living. Cheap spells, guns enchanted to never jam or over heat, stuff like that. Didn't even train me properly. As long as I could fire off an attack spell, he was happy. Well, not happy. He'd prefer it if I shot to kill but...”

 

“Yeah, that's not really something you want to get into.” With a satisfying click, the manacle came off. “Alright! So, Archie, is anyone else on board?”

 

“No, just me. They went to negotiate a deal.” Archie fidgeted. “Hey Mr. Hood? Can I blow up the ship?”

 

“Sure.” Jason didn't ask why. He didn't need to really. “Let's get off and you can lob a fireball at the cargo hold.”

 

And so, from a fairly safe distance away, Jason held the chipmunk that used to be his gun while Archie destroyed his prison. They sat, watching it burn for a bit. “Mr. Hood? You know heroes, right?”

 

Jason considered. “You could say that. Haven't spoken to any in a few years though. Why?”

 

“Can any of them teach me magic? Not attack magic or anything. But control, so I don't accidentally freeze things when I sneeze. And the kind of magic that my parents knew. I want to know that kind of magic.”

 

“Yeah. I can do that for you kid.”

 

Zatanna would be the best teacher for the kid. But unfortunately, Jason didn't know where Shadowcrest was. It was outside of Gotham for a while, but who knew where it had gotten to now. So the only other magic user in a hundred mile radius was Raven. Three hours after blowing up the cargo ship, Jason and Archie stood at the head of the bridge to Titans Tower. “It's just over there Archie. Just knock on the door, ask for Raven and tell her 'Switzerland rains blue'.” Jason really hoped that that code still worked. It was a phrase the Titans had used back during his incredibly brief stint with them. Basically meaning “this person can be trusted. Help them.”

 

Wringing his hands together, Archie eyed the door. “Why can't you come with me?”

 

“Because I might run into Robin. That's why.”

 

“Why wouldn't you want to run into him? I hear he's a good crime fighter.”

 

That... Jason really didn't want to hear that. “Yeah. So do I. But if I see him, I'll try and kill him, and I know I'll regret that later.” He had spent too long tamping down the Pit rage. Seeing Robin, seeing Batman or Joker, it would undo all his hard work. “But I'll be right here. And if they don't take you, I'll find you somewhere else.”

 

Archie nodded, straightened his back and started down the bridge, chipmunk on his shoulder. He'd decided to keep it, to the great chagrin of Jason. That rodent had been one of his best guns. And now it was small, fuzzy, and named Cherry. Archie and Cherry knocked, spoke for a moment to Wondergirl (not Donna unfortunately), and was let inside. Jason nodded, straddled his motorbike, and burned rubber all the way out of New York.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if anyone needs anything tagged, feel free to shoot me a PM or a reply or something and I'll throw it up there. I still don't know what kinds of things I should be consistently tagging.


	15. Metropolis and Fairy Doll

His phone went off, and he answered it at the same time as the building he was blowing up went sky high. “Talk to me.”

 

“ _Was that an explosion?!_ ” The voice was loud, vaguely panicked, and very young.

 

Kids tended to follow along with the general mood, unless they were in a tantrum. So Red Hood stayed calm, with a, “Oh, that? Yeah. Meth lab. So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?”

 

The tactic worked. When the kid spoke next, he was very calm. “ _Um. My name's Otto. And my cousin said that if I ever needed help, this is the number to call._ ”

 

“Pretty much. What can I help you with?”

 

“ _It's my dad. He's missing. He was involved with the drug trade in Metropolis and he tried to get out, but they didn't like that. It hasn't been twenty four hours yet, so we can't call the cops, but Dad never misses spaghetti night. He says that Mom's bolognese is to die for._ ”

 

“Metropolis? And that's where you live?”

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

Jason ran a hand over his helmet. His number had gotten that far already? “Right. You're lucky it's still early kid.” He started towards his motorbike. “I need some details. What your dad looks like, his name, which drug runners he was hanging with, where you think he went. That sort of thing.”

 

“ _You mean you'll help me?! Um, right. His name is Marvin Wickham. He's 5'7”, blond, with grey eyes. Mom says he looks like James Dean, but I don't know who that is. He normally wears a navy blue bowling jacket, from his college days. Metropolis Pin Heads._ ”

 

While the kid was talking, Jason patched the call straight to his helmet. He'd need both hands for this and besides, he couldn't hear his phone over his motorbike. Not with a nice thick layer of red polycarbonate between his ear and the speaker.

 

“ _I'm not sure which gang it was. The Sharks? The Snakes? Dad didn't like to talk about it in front of me or Ashley. But he did say he was going to the old theater on Fifty-eighth. Does that help?_ ”

 

“Like you wouldn't believe kid. Hang tight. I'll call you when this is over.”

 

The two hour ride from Bludhaven to Metropolis was filled with searching the local scum with his onboard computer, figuring out a plan to get Marvin out safe, and trying to figure out how to keep Superman from spotting him. As long as he left before daybreak, he should be good. Superman almost never went out at night. He liked his eight hours too much.

 

The old theater on Fifty-eight had probably been really nice at some point. But now, it was coated in tasteless graffiti, with boarded up windows and crumbling plaster. There were two Snakes guarding the entrance. One was a scumbag. He got one in the skull. The other was also a scumbag, but of the purse-snatching variety. He got two in the kneecaps.

 

With all the stealth Batman had ever taught him, he crept into the building. The Snakes were actually really easy to find. They were hanging out in Theater 1, sitting in the chairs facing the screen. But instead of the next big blockbuster, they were watching their gang leader beat the tar out of a defenseless man, tied to a chair.

 

A defenseless man who, had he been standing, would have hovered around five feet, seven inches. A man with blood-soaked blond hair and a navy blue bowling jacket.

 

Pulling out a pistol, Red Hood decided to go theatric. It fit the venue after all. He put two slugs into the ceiling and shouted, “Yo! Scumbags! My name is Red Hood of Bludhaven! You have five minutes to clear out of this building before I shoot every last one of you!”

 

Immediately, all attention left Marvin and turned to him. After a moment of silence in which the criminals wondered who would be _stupid_ enough to walk in here, they attacked.

 

He stayed near the door, sniping them as they got close. From his research on the way here, he knew which ones got head shots, which ones got shiny new lead kneecaps, and which ones got a fifty-fifty chance at survival. At the end of it all, there was forty thugs, either dead, dying, or rolling around in pain on the floor, with Marvin the dad looking on in stunned silence.

 

Red Hood just walked towards him and dragged him, chair and all, towards the exit.

 

A half hour later, he made a call. Despite the late hour, the kid picked up on the first ring. “ _Hello? Is he alright?_ ”

 

“Right as rain kid. Well. Not really. He took a beating. But he's alive and in the hospital. Don't worry about the medical bill. I covered it.”

 

“ _Really? My dad's okay?_ ”

 

“Mostly. But yes. He's alive.”

 

“ _Thank you Red Hood! You're the best hero ever!_ ”

 

Jason felt a smile creeping up on his face. “Yeah yeah. Now get to bed Otto. It's a school night.”

 

He hung up the phone and made his way back to Bludhaven. He crawled through the window of his apartment just as the sky started lightening.

 

* * *

 

His next phone call was from a toddler. At this point, he should probably just post it on social media. Text it to the six o'clock news. As it was, it was spreading like wildfire. He barely had time to clean up Bludhaven with all the calls he got from kids.

 

So, it was with more than a trace of sarcasm that he picked up the phone. “Red Hood's babysitting service. We operate from dusk to dawn and once when that one kid decided to call just as I was getting to sleep. How can I be of assistance?”

 

“ _Mistoh Hood? I'm Katy! I'm five and a hawf! And Macy said that if I need to tawk to someone, to call you! And I did!_ ” She sounded so darn _proud_ of herself, like working the phone was an accomplishment.

 

Which, to a five year old, it probably was.

 

“Right. So what did you want to talk about?” He wired the call into his helmet again. The audio filters would (hopefully) keep the gunfire out of his conversation. The gunfire and the screams. No reason to traumatize the kid.

 

“ _I lost a twoof. Macy said to put it under my piwwow, but I love it. It's my first twoof and it helped me chew a lot of apples._ ”

 

Jason smiled a bit as the drug dealers begged for mercy. They knew the consequences for dealing to kids. “Right. But if you don't put it under your pillow, the tooth fairy can't take it away in exchange for a present.”

 

“ _That's ok. She can give my present to anotter kid instead! I like my twoof more than I like qwaters anyway._ ”

 

“Aww, aren't you a sweet heart.” He couldn't do this while she was chatting in his ear. So he plugged a few slugs into the remaining dealer's knees as a warning and left the storehouse. “Well, there's nothing in the rulebook that says you _have_ to give her your tooth. You should tell your parents your decision, and they can pass it on for you.”

 

“ _They can do that?!_ ”

 

Uh oh. He'd probably just blown her mind. “Yup. Parents have ways of contacting the tooth fairy. They're the ones who tell her if you've been brushing or not.”

 

“ _I have! Every night, and before bweakfast too! I eben floss._ ”

 

“That's very impressive Katy. Good job.”

 

“ _You're a nice guy Mistoh Hood. Mommy says that you're evil and that I should stay away from you. But Daddy says that it's about time someone does something._ ”

 

Ah, the fierce dichotomy of public opinion. Two Face would approve. “And what do you think Katy?” He was honestly curious.

 

“ _I think you should help me choose between the faiwy dollie and the muhmaid dollie._ ”

 

He sighed. This was going to be a long conversation. Might as well retire for the night. He wouldn't get any work done with a five year old chattering in his ear. “Tell me about them. I need details if I'm going to help you decide.”

 


	16. Endings and Epilogue

This, he had been expecting. For months actually. Ever since he'd started. He was actually surprised it had taken this long for someone to try and stop him. It was probably going to help Otto that had brought this on. Oh well. Nothing he could do.

 

Except run.

 

If Superman rarely came out at night, this was one of those rare times. Already, he had chased Red Hood seventeen blocks, tossed him into four buildings, a lamp post and the street. Twice. If it hadn't been for his body armor, he would definitely have more than a few broken bones.

 

And, from the way Supes kept squinting at him, it was a good thing he'd gotten a lead lining in his helmet.

 

But he was getting winded. His shin was cracked and he was having trouble running. Four broken ribs made breathing hell, and he couldn't grapple because his forearm had snapped like a twig on that last landing. And that wasn't even mentioning his collarbone, pelvis, three fingers, two toes, and the numerous bruises and cuts he had from the experience.

 

Finally, Superman cornered him. With one last decisive swing of his arm, he sent Red Hood into a concrete wall. Jason felt his helmet crack at the impact, but thankfully, it stayed on.

 

“I'll admit, I'm impressed.” The Boy Scout floated over to him, lazily, and picked him up by the collar of his shirt. “From what I can see, you have fourteen broken bones at least, and you were still running. Are you a meta?”

 

“Hah... haaaa... Nope.” Red Hood wheezed. “Just a... normal human. Trying to d- do... what I think is... right.” It was hard to think, but he ran through his list of failsafes. One in particular. He'd picked it up after Metropolis.

 

Superman regarded him. “This is right? Acting as judge and jury, terrorizing the people of this city?”

 

“Work...ing, isn't it?”

 

It was true. Crime in Bludhaven was down. Very, very down. There hadn't been a murder in weeks, there were no reported cases of rape, and drug dealers were selling decent product, not laced with poison, and they were staying off of school yards.

 

But the Justice League would never see that. “That's not the point. We have to be better than this. Set a proper example for the people. For the children.”

 

Before Red Hood could call him out on how cliche he was being, a snowball smacked into Superman's head. “You put him down!”

 

Both of them turned to look at the source of the snowball. A fairly large group of kids had gathered, all of them holding snowballs, all of them glaring at Superman.

 

Jason recognized them.

 

Darius stood at the front of the pack. “Put him down Superman. Or you'll have to deal with us.”

 

Glaring at the kids (uselessly, they wouldn't be able to see with the helmet in the way), Jason shouted, “Get out of here! You shouldn't get involved in this!”

 

A snort from Emily, a thirteen year old who had needed help making paper roses for school. “We'll get involved if we want to. And right now, we want this big jerk to put you down!” The last word was punctuated by a foot stomp.

 

Poor Superman. He'd never gotten this kind of reaction from kids before. Normally, they clamoured for his autograph or said he was awesome, or asked him to punch a bad guy for them. But now he was hurting these kids' hero. And they didn't like him. At all.

 

“But...” He looked between Red Hood and the steadily growing gang of children, going back and forth so fast his face was a blur. “He's a criminal. He murders people. Hurts people.”

 

“Yeah?” Anna, fourteen, called him about a lost cat, spoke up. “Well Red Hood killed the guy who murdered my daddy. The guy who had been threatening Mommy and telling her he would kill her if she didn't pay up.” Ok, he didn't remember that. Totally possible though. “Because of Red, Mom is happy again. So you can stop hurting him!”

 

Tomas came up. “H-h-he helped my b-brother look up-p-p cars for a rep-report. Greg g-got a hund-red because of him!” Oh, Greg had gotten full marks on that one? Good for him.

 

Addie, a petulant nine year old who never got told “no”, but had still called him to make sure her worst enemy was alright when the other girl had been missing from school for a week, stepped up. “Red Hood is my big brother. So you leave him alone!” She was joined by a dozen other voices, all claiming Red Hood as their own.

 

Jason was seriously confused. Yeah, he'd talked to these kids. Helped them with their problems. Some of them had said that he was their hero. But this...? They were standing up to the strongest man in the world for him. And calling him brother. This was...

 

Was it possible to be completely and totally happy when he was probably bleeding internally?

 

Superman was distracted. It was now or never. Quickly, he fished in his belt, unclasping the lead-lined compartment and pulling out the tiny shard of rock stored within. It was smaller than his pinky nail, but the effects were immediate. Superman dropped him, doubling over in mid air before sinking to the ground.

 

And Red Hood landed solidly on his head, and his helmet cracked off.

 

Dazed, not really thinking, he sat up, and looked Superman dead in the eye. Watched as the Man of Steel's eyes widened, recognition flooding through them. “It can't be...”

 

As fast as he could with at least fourteen broken bones, he flicked his hand forward, tucking the Kryptonite shard between Superman's collar and his skin. The alien collapsed from the shock of it, but whether “it” was his one weakness touching his bare skin or the fact that someone he had thought was dead, well, _wasn't_ , or some combination of both... Well. It was a mystery.

 

As soon as Superman went down, the kids swarmed them. The older ones lifted Jason up, using their winter jackets as a stretcher while the younger ones kept the adult watchers away and grabbed his fallen equipment. His guns, his knife, the remains of his helmet.

 

His helmet had a failsafe on it. Ha. Batman's paranoia filtering down to him. Useful though. When the helmet was forcibly removed or broken off, it emitted a weak EMP that shut down electronics in a fifty foot radius. Prevents people from taking his picture. Hopefully that was still working.

 

Eventually, the kids managed to lose the adults, and started talking amongst themselves about what to do. Marcus, eight, called to talk about trains, valiantly offered his bedroom. Tania, sixteen, wanted to know the best way to plant a tree, thanked him and said they would keep it in mind. Ivan, fourteen, called to report his older brother as a serial killer and please don't kill him, said that his dad was a black market surgeon and would totally help if he asked. Since that was the best plan they could come up with, they followed Ivan.

 

Tara – she looked much better, much happier in her new place – was helping to carry him. “How are you doing Red?”

 

He gave out a weak laugh. “Not great Tara. Not!” He exclaimed, as she reached out to him, “Not the injuries. I've had worse. But...” He paused. But he could tell these kids. “It's kind of over now. Superman saw my face.”

 

On his other side, Macy snorted. “We've seen your face. You take off your helmet every time you talk to us.”

 

He did. The helmet was supposed to inspire fear in his enemies. The blank red showed no mercy, no pity, no emotion of any kind. But he didn't want that for the kids. “Yeah, you have. But you don't know who I am. He does.”

 

Quietly, so quiet Jason almost thought she hadn't said anything at all, Tara said, “We do though. You're Robin. Not the one we have now or the first Robin. But you were.”

 

Jason's mind blanked. “But... how...?”

 

Angus grinned fiercely. “We figured it out between us. I used to watch you on the news. You fought like a street kid and I always tried to copy your moves. You still fight like that, did you know?”

 

He hadn't, but it made sense. It was his first style. Shifting his arm closer to his chest, he sighed. “Yeah. I was the second Robin. Some stuff happened and...”

 

“It's ok.” Roger, seven, called because his parents hit him, rested a hand on his arm. “You don't have to say. Besides. You're a superhero. Your backstory is supposed to be secret.”

 

Jason had to let out a chuckle at that. “I guess. Thanks guys. Can you do me a favour though?”

 

Dozens of eyes turned towards him, and half as many heads nodded.

 

“Keep who I was a secret? It's going to get out, well, Batman's going to find out, and then who knows what will happen. But for now, I'd like to just stay like this.” Batman would disapprove of literally everything he'd done since he'd been resurrected. Dick would bowl in with hugs and apologies and lectures. The Pretender... he didn't want to think about him. It would just make him angry.

 

But this. This was nice. Being Red Hood, older brother to all the kids in Bludhaven (and a few in Metropolis), being _important_ and _needed_ , and not just that but _wanted_. Being wanted. That was enough.

 

Rahman just smiled. “Is that all? Red, after all you've done for us, we'd do anything for you.”

 

And Jason smiled back. “I know Rahman. I know that now. And thank you.”

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

 

Batman had heard of course. The day the Red Hood shot his first criminal, Oracle had contacted him about the new player in Bludhaven. He would have gone to confront the man, but Two Face had escaped Arkham the week before and Batman needed to find out what he was up to.

 

After that, the new vigilante wasn't a priority. He kept to Bludhaven, showed no sign of intruding on Batman's territory. And with all the upheaval in Gotham's sister city, criminals were migrating across the river, trying to get away from the man with the blood red helmet.

 

Red Hood's first month was a veritable horror story of gore. Six or seven targets a night, or two entire gangs. Destructive, yet meticulous. Crooks with purse snatchings got away with crippling injuries. Criminals with murders on their records died.

 

Then, after a month, the deaths started slowing down. Four a night. One. After five months of activity, Red Hood was going after one, sometimes two targets a week. When he went after gangs, the survivors reported some unusual behaviour. Red Hood would go for kill shots, right up until his phone rang. Then he switched to knee caps, often leaving minutes after answering the phone.

 

Truly odd behaviour for a man who had shown almost sociopathic dedication to his goals in his first month.

 

But still, it wasn't Batman's problem. He kept tabs on the very likely chance the Red Hood would become bored of the crime in Bludhaven, or simply run out, and move over to Gotham. And yes, Red Hood did eventually get bored. But it wasn't Gotham he went to. It was Metropolis.

 

After destroying one gang, he returned to Bludhaven and Superman brought the matter up to the League. Wonder Woman and Aquaman were unconcerned. But Green Arrow and Green Lantern were anxious, to say the least. What was to stop Red Hood from showing up in Star? Coast? Flash kept looking like he wanted to say something, but it didn't seem to be important. Clearly, he wasn't overly worried about Keystone or he would have done a better job of making himself heard over the shouting.

 

Finally, after a month-long debate, interrupted by two interplanetary crises, Batman told Superman to handle his own mess and stalked out. He definitely didn't have time for this and the argument was making him more than a little irritable.

 

He had not been expecting the result. At all. He had watched the news reports while he had been getting ready for patrol. It had started out as usual. Superman chasing the criminal through the streets, getting his hits in where he could. The Red Hood was surprisingly adept, able to avoid most damage and keep running for nearly twenty minutes before Superman caught him. The only news copter following was of the more controversial station, the one that didn't condemn Red Hood's actions too often. So the commentary was mostly about how Superman came into _their_ city, _uninvited_ , and was causing _massive_ property damage.

 

Then the children had shown up.

 

A swarm of them, ranging from age five to well into their teens. All armed with snowballs and empty pop cans and scowls. While they distracted Superman, yet _another_ thing he would have to talk to Clark about, Red Hood fished a piece of Kryptonite out of his pocket. They both went down, Red Hood's helmet cracked off and the children carted him away.

 

Batman sighed as one not-so-concerned citizen strode up to Superman and plucked the Kryptonite out of his clothing. Less than a minute later, Superman was awake and flying. The copter went to go follow him, looking for more news, while the feed cut to a ground reporter.

 

All of the Bludhaven news stations were reporting the same event. Witnesses, all of the adults who had been in the square at the time, were clamoured over, asking for a description of the ever-elusive Red Hood. Understandable. Few who had seen the Red Hood had lived to tell of it. But there were no pictures, despite the multitude of cameras and camera phones in the area. Most likely a short range EMP.

 

With a sigh, he turned back to his work, letting the reports wash over him, listening, but not really hearing. He was getting low on batarangs, and his all-purpose scanner needed charging. The smoke pellet compartment could use a refill as well and-

 

Wait. What had that woman said?

 

Luckily, the reporter, Evelyn Masters, asked her to repeat it. So the woman, older, mid-fifties, stood straighter and said clearly, “ _You heard me. I saw the Red Hood with my own two eyes and he was just a boy. Not even twenty by my reckoning! And that Superman fellow, with all his fancy powers and flying, went and beat him to high heaven! Imagine that, beating up a child who can't fight back!_ ”

 

The other stations started reporting the same. “ _Now that you mention it, yeah! He did look pretty young._ ”

 

“ _He didn't sound too old either. His voice I mean._ ”

 

“ _He looked around the same age as most of my first years. Eighteen, nineteen, somewhere in there._ ”

 

“ _Not even old enough to drink yet._ ”

 

“ _I have a niece his age._ ”

 

“ _And he saved that neighbour kid when Abe lost it!_ ”

 

“ _Yeah, I know Red Hood. Stops to talk to us on the corners sometimes. It's cause of him that we don't get beat any more. Nice kid._ ”

 

“ _Shelly sleepwalks, so we set up a camera in her room. We used to have to go looking for her. Nowadays, Red Hood drops her back home, safe and sound._ ”

 

“ _I saw Red Hood dropping off sixteen baskets of food to the orphanage across the street._ ”

 

“ _So there you have it folks. Not only did Superman come into our city and cause thousands in property damage, he mercilessly beat up a child who could do nothing in his defense, a child who does so much for us. Which begs the question: Are superheroes really what the people of this city, of this country, need? Join us at ten for further discussion. This has been Trevor Hunt with WGBT News. Back to you Alice._ ”

 

Thumb and forefinger went to the bridge of his nose, pushing back his cowl slightly. He didn't need this. At all. The political fallout from this would land directly on the Justice League. Batman had told Superman to handle his problem, not make the problem worse. Not to mention the fact that there was now a sliver of Kryptonite floating around one of the worst cities in America that he had to retrieve.

 

His line to Oracle suddenly crackled to life. “ _Bruce,_ ” she sounded a bit triumphant, “ _With everything that's happening in Bludhaven, I decided to run a deep web probe on any mentions of the Red Hood._ ”

 

“What did you find?” Something he could use to take the villain down hopefully.

 

“ _The usual news sites condemning his actions, right up until Superman showed up of course. Now they're singing his praises._ ”

 

“It's more likely they're using him as a reason to attack the League and our policies.”

 

“ _At first, but now they're definitely on Red Hood's side. Right after some civil servant posted the crime statistics. Murder is down, as is rape, smuggling, assault, theft, and, oddly, juvenile crime. Heck, even the suicide rate is lower than it was before Red Hood showed up. And more stories like the ones on the news, of Red Hood_ helping _people. Lots of people._ ”

 

Batman cursed. This made things a lot harder. Even if the Red Hood was lowering crime rates, he was still murdering people. That made him a criminal, which meant that the League had a duty to take him out. But if the people were so attached to him, they would fight any League presence in Bludhaven tooth and nail. “Anything else Oracle?”

 

“ _You know it. A bunch of minor mentions on the usual sites. Facebook has a page dedicated to his victims, et cetera. But there's this one site. It was a little tricky to hack into, but once I was in... Well, it's really something you have to see for yourself. I'm sending you the link and the password now._ ”

 

RedKids. A soccer team website if the background on the homepage was anything to be believed. The password appeared to be a phone number. Oracle was probably tracking it now. Once the password was in, he was led to another page, a forum by the look of it. He'd have to keep an eye on this website. It looked like the users kept a page dedicated to Red Hood sightings, probably so whoever was in the area could... bring him snacks?

 

He checked each sub-forum carefully. The users told stories about their individual encounters with the man. Based on diction, spelling and grammar, the users were children. All of them. It made sense considering the domain name he supposed.

 

The stories themselves didn't fit what he knew of the Red Hood. Helping children with their homework, saving their lives, improving their standards of living. A far cry from someone who spent his nights as the Red Hood did. Perhaps the public was being more truthful than he had first believed.

 

But the forums went on. A user named LadyPrada had started an appreciation thread, lauding the Red Hood's jawline. Bio-Toxic had started a timeline of Red Hood encounters, with his or her own right at the top and coinciding eerily with the time Red Hood's behaviour had started changing. There were innumerable recipe threads, and survival tips, and self defense advice.

 

By far, the most visited board was the Red Hood Theories board. The internet had a habit of over-analyzing everything from movies to public speeches, something Batman could relate to. And it appeared that this board was dedicated to that. Every snippet of conversation with the Red Hood was dissected and analyzed, pulling hidden meanings where there was none.

 

There were theories that he was the latest in a line of Gotham villains, which made sense. The Red Hood Gang had been in and out of Gotham mythos for the past century. This theory was debunked by the simple fact that this Red Hood worked alone. Some believed he was an avenging angel, but based on the number of heart emoticons in their signatures, they were female and in love. The most popular theory seemed to be-

 

No.

 

It couldn't be.

 

It _couldn't_!

 

He was staring at the screen in disbelief, trying to form some sort of explanation. Clearly, these children didn't know what they were talking about. There was no connection. They were making leaps of logic that held no basis in reality. It was an internet theory, one of hundreds which got disproved each day.

 

And then Superman flew into his cave and Batman's world shattered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's the end! Hooray! The first few chapters of the sequel will be up in a few days as well, although I'll probably be posting those in singles as opposed to groups of two.
> 
> If anyone has any requests, let me know! The sequel is also a request fic, and I have no limit on the amount I can take.
> 
> Have a lovely day my readers!


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